Reunion
by pheobe p
Summary: The night before we left – Derek for Vancouver and an exciting life of professional hockey, and me for University of Toronto and spectacular academic achievement– there was… an incident.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay so I got a plot idea from moirariordan 's site: fanprompted. Even though you can't see the plot prompts in this chapter – they're coming!_

_This is kind of a departure for me. If you liked my other stories but hate the start of this then …hang on…I am also sort of working on something more in line with the old stuff. Okay, so enjoy (I hope!). love, phoebe :)_

_**reunion -- reunion -- reunion-- reunion -- reunion -- reunion -- reunion -- reunion -- reunion --**_

Christmas is probably my favorite holiday. Family gathers together from faraway places to celebrate the joys of being together and to reflect on all their warm memories from…

Oh who was I kidding with that!

I was a wreck. I was driving back to London for the first time since starting college. And, of course, I could pinpoint the exact source of all my…wreckness…and that source was _Derek_!

He'd signed with the Canucks right after high school – weird huh?

Not that it was weird about his playing professional hockey, because he's really good. I mean, I didn't even _like _him and I could admit that he is talented at the sport…but _the Vancouver Canucks_?

Just not a team he ever seemed interested in…as a matter of fact …he used to _hate_ the Canucks…

But I guess love can really change a person…

…even change a person from being a _life long_ and _loyal_ Maple Leafs fan to a person who would actually play for a rival team …even a team that the same _life long_ and _loyal_ Leafs fan professed to absolutely _hate with a passion_…

I guess that's just part of the _amazing_ power of love. Amazing huh?

And Derek…_my stepbrother_…part of _my family_…whom it would be incest for me to have a relationship with…(not that I would—I'm just saying—just putting that information out there)…

All of which is completely beside the point of love's amazing …power…but anyway…

Derek was in love.

And with an _amazing_ girl named Sally who is also my friend and who _amazingly_ convinced him to move to Vancouver to play hockey for a team he has hated for the entire three and a half years I have known him.

Wow. Truly, truly…no I can't say the word again…

But here is the deal: and really it's just a small little snag in what could have been a _lovely _Christmas vacation spent at home with my family for me.

And maybe a chance for Derek and his girlfriend – also my friend –_Don't forget!_ – to see everyone and spread a little of the above mentioned _amazingness _around before tripping back to Vancouver…

Okay! I AM getting to the point. Just be patient. This isn't exactly something I'm proud of…

Back to my being a wreck…

I was a wreck driving home on Winter Break because of what happened before I ever came to U of T. Actually I was a wreck because of what happened precisely before I ever came to U of T.

The night before we both left – me and Derek – him for Vancouver and an exciting life of professional hockey and me for University of Toronto and spectacular academic achievement– there was…

an _incident_.

It was a very emotional time (just to properly set the tone directly before this incident).

He was packing; I was helping him pack. (Because of course I was already completely packed and ready like any halfway responsible person would have been).

So there I am, carefully folding his sweatshirts and jeans and making little balls out of his socks. He must have been feeling grateful—sock balls are, after all, really convenient when you want a pair of socks in the morning and don't want to have to dig through a drawer of possibly mismatched…

"Casey, what the hell are you doing? Just stuff them in the bag like I told you to do."

"Derek! Trust me – these sock balls are going to really come in handy when you…"

"Fine. Whatever! Just make the stupid sock balls and shut up."

I looked over at him from where I was sitting on his bedroom floor.

I'd stacked everything neatly around me to formulate the best plan of packing. There is a lot to consider when you pack: wrinkle potential, space, weight of bag, convenience of necessary items…well I could go on and on.

"Obviously!" Derek scoffed at me. (I'd taken the time to explain my system to him _– because I'm nice like that!)_

"You know, Derek," I started. "You don't seem very excited to be going off to Vancouver tomorrow."

He just shrugged at me. He'd been on the phone to Sam earlier, saying goodbye.

The day before we both helped move Ralph into his apartment near North American Trade School (I know, I know… but I thought this was pretty good for Ralph.)

Sam was coming to Toronto like me.

Emily was meeting Sheldon at Memorial University in Newfoundland (cute huh?). Interestingly, though not particularly relevant to my story, Memorial is actually one of the few places where Derek was accepted. He wouldn't have even have been on probationary status IF he'd chosen to go there. Which he never would have done.

Memorial only has a film _minor_ instead of a major, so he had been thinking more along the lines of getting into Toronto as a probationary student. Then when he brought his grades up, the probationary status would be lifted.

Well. None of that really mattered anymore.

Now he was going to Vancouver to play for the Canucks. Oh and also he was moving there to be near Sally…because he loved her.

Derek gave me a withering look. "Butt out, Casey". Then he plopped backwards so instead of sitting on his bed and staring at the wall, he was lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

I came to sit beside him because with Derek, "butt out Casey" usually means he has a problem and wants me to keep butting _in_ until either he figures out a solution, and yells at me or _I _figure out a solution and then yell at him.

"You've been complaining all year about missing Sally and having to be on probationary status at U of T and now both those problems are gone. No more college and no more missing."

He continued to stare at the ceiling, eyes narrowed, chewing his cheek. Just a grunt to tell me that…_yes all these things are true, Casey, yet I still find myself filled with an inexplicable ennui_.

I nodded as if I understood him perfectly despite the grunt because … despite the grunt …I …understood him perfectly.

"Well…maybe you …made a mistake?" (Always a dangerous suggestion with Derek but I'm brave like that.) "You know, it isn't too late to change your mind about going all the way across the country to live in Vancouver."

That got his attention! He raised an eyebrow at me and screwed his mouth up.

"Well, it isn't!" I countered.

But what a _liar_ I was! Because it so totally _WAS_ too late – it was like way, way, way _beyond_ too late!

Too late was two months ago when he signed for the Canucks!

Too late was when he gave Sally all of his savings for a down payment plus first and last months' rent on a the ritzy apartment she found for them!

Too late was when he gave Edwin his film equipment because he _wouldn't have time for that stuff_ as a newly signed hockey player!

I felt so bad for him in that moment; he wasn't going to be living the future he had planned for and wanted:

He had planned for me to continue tutoring him (just like I had done all this year) so he could move from probationary status to regular status.

And he and I were going to take Introduction to Media together (because I was majoring in theatre and he was majoring in film so we both had to take Introduction to Media and its follow-up course Media Criticism—which we were also going to take together – although we hadn't specifically discussed the follow-up course).

And I had given him Maple Leaf tickets as a Christmas/ birthday present (and dated the most appallingly shallow guy I think I have ever dated to get those tickets! I hate shallow people! Especially when I have to deal with them for the sole purpose of getting my stepbrother season tickets to his favorite team! I am a martyr, I tell you! Really!)

And he and I had even gone to look at some places off campus that we might, maybe consider sharing at some point far, far in the future (like the next fall) because all the tutoring had sort of made us …friends…

I actually started feeling not just bad for Derek in that moment but actually pretty bad for myself too.

"Derek," I sighed. Only it was a really wobbly sigh, like when you suddenly realize that you are barely keeping from crying and are probably not going to be able to hold it for more than a second before… _oh no_…

"Derek," I started again and I was doing slightly better with the wobble. "I can't believe I spent all my specifically allotted Christmas present money on those Maple Leaf tickets when you aren't even going to be here for the games!" I told him.

Then I started to sob.

"Jeez Casey!" But for ONCE he wasn't a completely heartless jerk because he actually sat up and put his arms around me so that I could sob into his shirt. He also rubbed my back –which felt really nice.

Despite the two of us getting to be "sort of friends" over the past year, he had still insisted upon the "no warm family moments with Casey" rule. So I was a little surprised when he _not only_ rubbed my back but _also_ squeezed me closer and sort of curled himself around me.

It was probably _the best hug I've ever gotten_.

He even buried his face against my neck and pulled me onto his lap! It was such a great hug that it was actually _exceeding_ all my fantasies of what a warm family moment with Derek might be. I wasn't even crying anymore!

Instead, I was gripping him back just as tightly as he was now gripping me and not ever wanting _the best hug I've ever gotten_ to end.

Apparently, Derek didn't want it to end either because he sort of…tackled me… leaning down over me on the bed.

I swear to God that I had NO IDEA what was going on except that we HAD been _sitting _and now we were _lying_ on the bed.

It really wasn't _that_ unusual in the grand scheme of things; I fall down a lot. I knock people over a lot. I guess, in the confusion of _the best hug I've ever gotten_, I just sort of assumed that I had done something to make us… fall over.

Sort of a… me on the bottom and him on the top…kind of unusual _(yet still remotely plausible!)_ type of falling over.

So it was a complete surprise to find that the mutual falling over also involved our mouths kind of lining up in the way that people's mouths line up when they kiss. And, I suppose, finding ourselves in that position…

Well not to skip over any of the good parts – because I can see that your eyes are dilating and your breathing has gotten a little shallow here.

Really, you seem way more invested in this story _now_ than you were when I was explaining about the packing. ..

Alright! Alright!

We were kissing. Big time.

He had his hands up my shirt and I was grinding against him. There wasn't any thought of Sally or incest or the fact that our family was pretty much all in the house and downstairs or that the door was unlocked. ..

God he _felt good_!

His mouth was on my neck leaving big dark marks (which, by the way, were way embarrassing and difficult to hide my _first_ week of college when everyone was _first_ getting to know me and I was making a _first _impression – _probably as a total slut!)_

But I wasn't thinking about that THEN.

I was thinking about getting Derek's shirt off. _Duh!_

I had spent three years of my teenage life brushing against him in the close quarters of the hallway outside our rooms.

Him waking up and stretching in the morning wearing nothing but those plaid pajama pants.

Him coming out of the bathroom in a towel and smelling like cologne with the little drops of water rolling down his muscles.

Him, shirtless, doing chin-ups on that stupid doorway chin-up bar with his jeans falling dangerously low on his hips.

_God!_ And the shirt was just the beginning…of course…because then it was the chin-up bar all over again, with the jeans sliding down his hips, and the muscles flexing under his skin.

Only now it was worse! Because now he was right on top of me, kissing me so hard and demandingly that I felt like I might asphyxiate or …combust. He was saying my name over and over again and begging…

"_Casey…please…please…Casey…" _

I don't know. ..

Maybe the begging meant that he wanted me to fix all the screwed up decisions that he had made, or maybe the begging was because he wanted me to tell him that they didn't need fixing at all.

Then again, maybe he was begging for exactly what I gave him.

I just know that I couldn't let go of him—not since the moment _the best hug I've ever gotten_ had started. I just wanted him closer and closer.

My clothes came off. Then the last of his clothes came off.

He was inside of me.

He was moving and I was moving and it felt so…

He _definitely _deserved that reputation he had (before Sally of course – but lets not bring her back quite yet okay?) because my whole body felt was tingling .with the friction between us.

Derek cupped my face with one palm to fix his eyes on mine and gripped at my hip with the other. I was staring back at him barely able to think except for the silliest things like… I remember thinking that I had never noticed how impossibly long his eyelashes were or how his cheeks became adorably flushed when he was exerting himself. His lips were parted above mine – brushing my own lips.

God! He really is very handsome – I mean I have never exactly _denied_ that my stepbrother is absolutely gorgeous. He just _IS._ It would have been stupid to pretend that he wasn't just because I didn't like him most of the time we were growing up together. I'm not good at faking stupid.

But …_oh my_ …it is ONE thing to have a vague sort of acceptance that the cocky, overly-aggressive jerk living in the room next door to you is actually a very, very _attractive_ cocky, overly-aggressive jerk and then QUITE ANOTHER THING to have the jerk on top of and inside of you. His muscles taught, his breath panting into your mouth, his long lashes brushing your cheek, his lips grazing your own and his skin sliding against your breasts as he thrusts into you.

QUITE ANOTHER, I tell you!

I'm amazed I didn't scream out and alert the entire family to just what kind of " another thing" I am talking about here.

Because I didn't. I didn't time to.

The entire _incident_ had barely started when George and my mom both bellow up the stairs, "Casey and Derek! Get downstairs!"

We were both thinking exactly the same thing – I'm sure it's the exact thing YOU are thinking this very minute. _We were caught!_ _They know! _

_How could they NOT KNOW? _

Having sex with your stepsibling was obviously enough of a criminal act and… a sin… that somehow what Derek and I had done had actually thrown the earth its axis and caused it to start spinning the opposite direction –the enormity of it had possibly even propelled it into an entirely different solar system!

I know it felt that way to ME!

However, after our parents yelled upstairs for us, Derek and I were apart and dressed so fast that when we bolted from his room and into the hallway we were both still panting. His cheeks were still pink. My breasts still tingled with his touch.

We both paused then and looked at each other and I swear that _I could tell_.

He might have chosen Sally as his favorite girlfriend and chosen Marti as his favorite sister and Nora as his favorite mom and Emily as his favorite "female friend" but, whether or not he wanted to actually choose me didn't matter, NO ONE knew Derek Venturi better than I did.

That whole earth tilting, reverse spinning, propulsion to alternate universe thing?

It had happened for him too.

I narrowed my eyes at him. He rubbed a hand over his face.

_That's right Venturi!_ I was practically singing to him in my mind. _You have really gone and done it NOW, haven't you? There is NO WAY you can possibly get in your piece of shit car and drive all the way to Vancouver – somewhere I know you don't really want to go – after THAT! _

Ha! Looks like I solved his problem after all didn't I? I was feeling smug. I was feeling happy. I was feeling excited (although not quite as excited as I was feeling back in the bedroom) but I started to see all the old plans falling back into place. And I realized that I really WANTED those plans.

I didn't want Derek to leave.

I didn't want him to become a Canuck's player.

I definitely didn't want him to live with Sally.

Downstairs my mom and George had hung a big banner with our names and _We'll Miss You_ written on it. There was pizza. There was cake. There were friends. It was very sweet. Everyone was reminiscing about the past and anticipating the future.

George made a toast, "Casey we know you'll make us just as proud as you have always made us. Derek I just know that I have never been so happy to find my son ISN'T going to school. I am incredibly proud that I have a real professional athlete…"

And Sam said a few words, "…I guess we all knew that Derek would be a famous hockey player one day…"

And Marti was sad but added, "all my friends are so jealous of me that my brother is Derek the hockey player…"

Even Sally was there. Looking great. With pictures of the fabulous place she had picked out with Derek's savings and a notarized copy of his Canucks contract.

Too late. It was just way, way too late.

Derek didn't meet my eyes for the rest of the night.

When I woke up in the morning he was gone.

So back to Winter Break and my white knuckled drive from Toronto to London! I guess I don't need to fill you in on the five months in-between. Do I?

I've always been a good student; when my parents were fighting every night, when they finally divorced, when my mom moved us into that zoo of the Venturi household, when Derek tormented me and boyfriends broke up with me…I just buried myself in my _desire to excel_.

Sometimes, when I needed to "bury myself" a little…deeper…it became more of a _need_ to excel, maybe even a _pathological need_ to excel or an _obsessive, compulsive need_ or even an a_ll consuming tornado of desperate need_ to excel. Whatever.

At any rate, there was no shame in my homecoming because I'd had a very, very successful first semester. Despite the hickies. Or, Because of the hickies. Whatever!

Derek, on the other hand, had quite a bit to be ashamed of (in my opinion)…QUITE A BIT.

Oh he was a big star and all that –girls across the nation who didn't even know him were in love with him (as opposed to his former circumstances in which only girls at our high school who didn't even know him being in love with him). But that isn't the issue. The issue was the way he played...

"_Hockey's Bad Boy"_

Do you know how BAD you have to be to be "_Hockey's Bad Boy_" ? Really, Really , Really BAD.

Not that he wasn't good. He was great.

Just…what a mean bastard he had become! Yes, I really did say that; Derek was a mean bastard: slashing, high-sticking, spearing. He did all kinds of stuff that he used to think of as dirty or call "tricks that guys who skate for shit always pull."

And he got in fights!

Not just the regular fights during the games either (because back in high school he got in plenty of game fights – apparently guys who "skate for shit" don't really appreciate being identified as such.)

Derek got in fights OFF the ice – AFTER games – BEFORE games – when there were no games at all.

Then he made the tabloids. Which, being Derek, led to even more fan-girl worship.

And everyone might be shrugging all this aggression off as "that's Derek for you," but NOT ME!

Just because _no one else_ could tell Derek's regular jerky overly aggressiveness from his desperate, cry-for-help overly aggressiveness didn't mean that I was blind to what was really going on.

_SO – maybe things weren't going so well in Vancouver—hmmm? _

_Maybe he shouldn't have just driven off in the night to his little love-nest and his big-shot hockey position and his fan-girls and his …never, ever emailing me or calling or saying a SINGLE THING about what happened between us…_

What a jerk! I hate Derek!

I wasn't a wreck anymore by the time I pulled up to the house. I was fuming! I felt like I could rip the front door off by the hinges! I felt like I could carry the two huge suitcases, packed with three possible outfits per day, in one hand and hurl them up the stairs and into my old room. I felt like I could …

_Oh My God!_ He was the first one to answer the door and it was the chin-up bar all over again.

His hair was wet. A towel was draped over one shoulder and he was bare-chested. _Oh My_…professional hockey was doing fine, fine things to his already not to shabby body. I mean, what was once a sort of scrawny kind of muscular had turned into a sort of muscular kind of muscular. He looked really….good…and the low slung jeans thing was still in full force too. God help me…please…

_Please Casey….please….._

No don't think of that! He hasn't even tried to contact you _once_ in the five months since that happened. _Ass!_

We both just stood there looking each other up and down and, even though I was breathing a little hard and probably red in the face from carrying the two ginormous suitcases, he looked like he was trying not to picture the exact same things that I was trying not to picture.

And he actually took a step towards me—reached for me—with his face soft and dazed like it was the last time he made eye contact with me in the hallway before our going away party. I was frozen. I wanted him to touch me—traitor that I was—traitor to the five months of agony between _that_ moment and this moment.

"Derek? Who's at the door?" _No! Tell me it isn't true!_

"Casey?" _Wait I know that voice!_

"Mom?"

She elbowed Derek out of the way and crushed me to her chest. "Oh Casey! I'm so glad you're here!"

And behind her was the owner of the other voice, the first voice I'd heard.

"Sally?"

She smiled at me (Was I imagining it or was that smile looking a little strained? Maybe a little… not so glad to see me? ) She wrapped her arms around Derek's waist possessively and leaned into him. Her eyes met mine purposefully.

_She knows! _

If there is one thing I could always count on Derek for it was to lie, cheat, steal and basically do whatever it took to save his own skin. So I knew that he hadn't _told her_ or anything. No way.

But the daggers she was throwing me with that look—and the uncomfortable way that Derek was standing beside her—limp—chewing the inside of his cheek—panicked! Hah!

He missed me!

He missed me so much that he was talking about me—a lot—to HER. _Ha! Double ha!_ And, It was driving her crazy!

I smiled sweetly at the two of them. "Its great to see you, Sally." I yanked my suitcases towards the stairs because I fully intended on hauling both of them up to my room by myself. BECAUSE MY SUPER-GIRL POWERS HAD RETURNED!

And just as I grazed his shoulder with my own, I added him into my greeting. Calm, cool, collected, "Derek," I drawled into his ear.

To Be Continued…


	2. Chapter 2

This wasn't just any typical Christmas holiday at the McDonald-Venturi home and not just because we had _Hockey's Bad Boy_ staying with us (despite what it might have looked like to someone outside the family).

The real, non-Derek's ego stroking reason, _this_ holiday was special was because my mother had decided (and when I say "decided" I mean "was guilt-tripped into having it at our house by my Nana Susan") to have a family reunion over the holiday.

We had a week to get ready and then it would be four days of "getting back to our roots" and "reconnecting" for the McDonald side of the house.

"Oh Casey, I am just so thankful that you are here to help me with all this. You know how I am about planning and staying organized."

"Not to worry Mom, I already have some rough plans that I drew up back in Toronto, during my free-time."

We were all sitting at dinner and things were actually feeling _fairly regular_ and normal. Derek was across from me with Sally. Edwin was trying to see down Sally's shirt from where he sat on the other side of her.

Marti was sneaking her green beans onto George's plate when he wasn't looking and Lizzie was moving them back just as sneakily.

If I could just forget that Derek and I had ever semi-slept together then the whole thing would feel like it had never happened and we were just one big happy family having a nice meal.

But, unfortunately for me, I _did_ happen to remember that incident in High-Def, full color with surround sound and life-like 3D effects. Make that…Especially _unfortunate _because every little thing Derek did seemed to have some kind of innuendo in it as far as my hormonal reflexes were concerned.

_Three years_ of eating dinners across from him and I had never noticed the way he sometimes ran one long finger round and round the rim of his glass when he was listening in on the conversation.

Or the way he stabbed at everything with his fork and then sort of cockily tossed it into his mouth simultaneously leveling a squinty-eyed "I'm reading your mind" type of look at me.

Or how he tore chunks of bread off of the loaf instead of cutting them and how that caused the ropey tendons of his wrists to flex all the way up his forearms.

Or how he could get a beautifully tender look of pain on his face and rub at his chest, just over his heart, like something hurt him, when Marti refused to answer his questions because she was still angry at him for leaving.

Sally had piped up at some point in the conversation, "And Derek and I would be happy to help with the reunion too. Just let us know what we can do!"

She directed this at my mom and myself but I was busy—trying not to melt off the chair as I watched her boyfriend lick spaghetti sauce from the edge of his butter knife.

My mom smiled gratefully at the two of them, "I really appreciate it. I can always count on you Sally."

Derek scowled. "I told you to quit doing that," he grumbled at her.

"Doing what?" Sally asked blinking at him.

And I guess I felt a little grateful…I mean guilty…wait, no I don't …I meant grateful… that she was offering to help.

Besides, Mom was right; Sally was a very dependable and responsible person—which was what made me like her in the first place.

I mean, she helped with Marti's tenth birthday party. And she offered to make dinner the very first time she came over.

She 's actually a lot like me… in not just _this_ helpfulness way, but other ways too.

Like: she's a feminist. And she doesn't feel the need to be trendy or follow the crowd. She sticks up for herself. And she actually likes school and gets good grades... And we both volunteer for things. And we both look for the best in people.

Everyone likes people they have a lot in common with, right?

So, you can see why she and I _would have been_ the very good friends that we _had always been_ since the first time I met her.

Just …really…

…good friends, with lots in common… lots of the _same _values… and _same _beliefs… and the _same _attitudes about… things…

Yep. That's me and Sally.

Also…She just fit perfectly into our family too – because we are so much alike (and obviously I fit in with my family since it is, in actuality, _MY_ family)—so in a really fun and sort of uncanny way having Sally around is a lot like having _two_ of _me _around! Isn't that _great_?

Like me, only _blond_!

Like me but with three older brothers so far more adept with _maneuvering _boys!

Like me but _with the ability to actually date my stepbrother instead of just being able to set him up with other girls because_ (for some inexplicable reason) _you thought it might be a nice bonding experience for you to help out your ass of a step-brother_ (even if it eventually led to his living on the other end of the country after having sort of had sex with you the night before he left). So…

Where was I?

Dinner! Right!

So apparently after he messily ripped a piece of garlic bread off of the loaf, Derek felt the need to lick the garlic butter off of each finger, slowly, _really slowly_ actually, and, also, to pause and smirk at me between fingers. _Ass!_ _I hate Derek_!

Finally, after cleaning himself like a cat _and_ leaning back to give me another of the squinty-eyed mind reading looks, he decided to actually speak to me for the first time since I'd come home. "You drew up plans for the reunion in your free-time? Same old Casey, no dates, no parties, no life."

Our eyes locked in the old way. The _forget everyone else is in the room—that 's right I went there—what 's it to ya—bring it on_ sort of way.

"I have a life _filled _with dates and parties, Derek." Suddenly, I was sitting up straight and my cheeks were warming with blood.

In my new life no one fought with me like Derek did. It was like having defibrillator paddles jolting the life back into me.

"Reeeeally?" he drawled.

He'd pushed his plate out of the way and set his palms on the table like he was getting ready to spring over it and onto me.

"Name _one_ person you've actually dated…"

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a raised finger, "It has to be someone you weren't set up with… and went out with _more_ than once…"

"Well…maybe there are too many to name…"

The whole family chimed in with a surprised, "_Really?"_

"Yes, REALLY. As a matter of fact I have a sort of BOYFRIEND in Toronto and he's really smart and cute and studying to be …a doc…a lawyer. Ummm…Sort of a specialist in medical law issues."

"Oh Honey, that's great!"

"What's his name?"

"When can we meet this guy?"

But none of the other voices at the table could break into the intense _make your next move_ glare Derek and I were giving each other. He looked at me with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes—I could tell that he didn't quite trust his intuition to outright call me a liar. He was tasting the air between us: _How does Casey usually act when she has a boyfriend? Could that have changed in the five months of silence between us? Is she telling the truth or not?_

_Oh I KNOW you Derek Venturi—I can read your mind RIGHT BACK if I want to…_

It was essential that I not flinch and keep the superior smile glued to my face—_even though I was totally dying inside because Derek had NAILED it of course!_

I was so busy _desiring to excel_ that I had hardly dated at all, and even the few guys that I HAD dated fell into stupid Derek's _doesn't count_ categories as double date set-ups and one time things at that.

Derek leaned back and folded his arms. He'd come to some kind of conclusion, obviously.

I tried not to squirm. "Can someone please pass the cheese to me?"

"So what _IS_ his name Casey?" Derek countered.

Everyone was waiting for my answer, and no one was passing me the Parmesan, _of course_ . _What Derek wants Derek gets. _

"I mean," Derek spread his arms wide like I had made some kind of big deal out of it (when it was actually him making the big deal). I'd be happy to let the subject just drop…_deep, deep into the hole I was digging_.

Derek raised his eyebrows at me, "He's going to need a _name _once he's a doctor—slash—lawyer , right? What will the patients—slash—criminals call him?"

"Very funny Derek. His name is …_oh shit, think, Casey, think_…

Troy. His name is Troy. "

_Troy?! Damnit! Being home agian brought back all my High School Musical fantasies! And I'm Gabriella ? Oh God ..still the only other name I could think of was Brad Pitt and that was…_

"Troy what?" Derek had a smirk and an eyebrow up to match. "What's his last name?"

"Troy…Pitt." _Kill me now_.

"Like Brad Pitt? Are they related?" Lizzie's eyes looked a little glassy.

"NO. Or at least…not…closely…I think."

Besides Lizzie, the only other person who seemed to be actually buying that Troy, the good-looking doctor-lawyer distantly related to Brad Pitt was my new boyfriend was _Sally._

"I'm really happy for you, Casey. When Derek plays in Toronto maybe the four of us can go out."

"Can I have the Parmesan, please?"

Still no one gave me the damn cheese! (But, to be fair, it might have been hard to hear me over the violent coughing fit my step-brother was having to semi-disguise the fact that he was laughing his ass off at me.)

My mom started to stand and gather up dishes. "I just really hope you aren't neglecting your social life, Sweetie," she said to me with a smile.

I guess she didn't notice that I was beet red and trying to disappear into my plate of spaghetti at that moment.

"It seems every time I talk to you, you've taken on a new responsibility: working for the campus paper… traveling with the dance company… auditioning for plays… the English Honor's Society… Canadian Young Lawmakers… volunteering at the Women's Center… working at the coffee shop… "

"Wow Casey!" Sally interrupted the stream of my extra-curricular activities Mom was recounting. "That's impressive!" And she really did seem impressed. Everyone did.

Lizzie beamed, "Wow Sis, you must be the most important person at University of Toronto!"

"… Organizing Committee for Keep Toronto Beautiful Day… U of T Scholastic's Society… Collegiate Poet's Club… " my mom was continuing with the list.

Derek's expression had gone from self-satisfied to puzzled, then to troubled until, finally, his face was soft with pain and he was rubbing at his chest again the way he did when Marti ignored him.

"That's our Casey!" George smiled.

I got a big, "Go Casey!" from Marti.

They were all standing, clearing the table, moving into the kitchen with plates and bowls.

Derek still rubbed at his chest and looked at me.

Did hearing about all my achievements really cause him to be this miserable? Was he _that_ petty that he would actually begrudge my success? _God_…and here I'd hoped…I mean _not hoped_…I didn't hope anything…I'd _thought_ ….but I guess I was wrong.

He really hated me, then. Didn't he?

I felt faint. I felt sick. I felt like I was going to cry. "Excuse me." I smiled to throw everyone off, but they were already back to talking about the reunion and fretting about old family feuds and wondering how various relatives might have changed….and…._WHO CARES ABOUT ANY OF THAT? _

_Derek hates me…._

I was in my room with the door closed – back on my bed with tears on my face – because of a boy – because of Derek. _Well wasn't this turning out to be the complete experience of what it feels like to be HOME. How many times growing up in this house had I…_

The door creaked open and I tried to wipe the evidence from my cheeks.

"Casey?"

Derek closed the door behind him and sat next to me on the bed. "Case?" his voice sounded thick. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "This is about me isn't it?"

_Yes. It's about you, asshole. You hate me so much that you can't stand to hear my own mother praise me…_

"What's about you?" I said cheerily. "I have no idea…"

He ignored my fake cheeriness. "All those things you've been doing, Those clubs and …societies …and stuff. You do that when you're upset. I know you Casey."

"God, Derek. Not everything is about YOU! And, anyway," I added haughtily, "I don't even know what your talking about! …. Did you hear my mom? Did you hear your dad? They're proud of _ME._ Looks like I'm _STILL _the good child while you…."

_It was below the belt but I felt mean…he'd MADE ME mean… _

"You are the _Bad Boy of Hockey_!" I folded my arms. "You are STILL a disappointment to them."

_God! Did I really say that? And the way he's narrowing his eyes at me and sucking in the side of his cheek. Oh he is PISSED…. Yikes…RETREAT! RETREAT! But I can't retreat because this is my room…_

He got up in my face to whisper through gritted teeth, "Your mom wasn't saying all that because she's proud of you, _Keener-princess_, she's _worried_. "

"No she isn't," I scoffed. But maybe she was? She sounded kinda worried now that I thought about it…

But I didn't like the way he was bearing down on me like I was…some guy on the ice that he'd like to beat the crap out of.

"Anyway _Derek_, maybe I've taken on a lot of projects this semester but at least I channel my frustrations into productive and worthwhile involvements that benefit not just my scholastic record but also the community around me!" _Whew. Try saying that in one breath!_ I was huffing and puffing, but I was still mad as hell.

"_YOU_ just get in _FIGHTS_!"

I pushed him hard against his shoulder to try and _get some damn breathing room_. Does he really need to _ALWAYS STAND SO FRIGGIN CLOSE TO ME? _

The first push hadn't done a damn thing so I pushed again—harder.

"I thought you said this wasn't _about_ me," he growled.

_Damn his lightening fast reflexes_…he'd slapped a hand over mine when I'd made contact with his shoulder and had it pinned there. I was stuck.

"It isn't!" I hissed at him.

He yanked me towards him—_he was going to try and KISS me!_—did he think I was easy or something? He _ignored _me the last time we went there.

I leaned back away from him. "Ha! I don't think so, Derek." I warned.

He pushed my hand from his shoulder like he'd been stung.

We stared at each other and I saw my own hurt reflected in his eyes.

"Maybe," I sniffed at him, cold and distant. "I've just been homesick and so I've _overdone_ it _a little_ with the commitments because of that—something _I'm sure that I'll outgrow_—eventually."

Derek sneered and looked me up and down. "Me too, _Case_." He said even more coldly than what I'd been able to muster. "I'll probably outgrow _my_ homesickness too."

_Fine. Be that way. Outgrow you homesickness all you want, Derek. _

_Go ahead! _

"In fact," he continued. "I might be over it _right now_—being home just doesn't feel quite the same as I remembered—I don't know what I ever saw in _home_ as a matter of fact…"

_Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry…_ "Me too," I choked out.

Derek's face softened.

At least, he didn't look like he wanted to kick my ass anymore – that tense coiled-spring stance I'd come to recognize from watching him on the ice was gone. He reached a hand out and swiped my cheek.

_Tears? After all the begging I'd done with myself to keep them at bay! I hate Derek_!

Derek pulled me into his arms then. He just stood, hugging me to him.

"I missed you," I whispered to him…because…_oh, what the hell_…I was already crying …I'd already humiliated myself with the fake boyfriend and my list of accomplishments that he could see right through…

"I missed you too, Case. You have no idea."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

So where was I?

Oh that's right – _the bedroom_ – us _hugging_ _–"I missed you, Derek_" and then _"I missed you too…."_ That heartfelt look he gave me when he broke away…

It was one of those brief moments where Derek is actually a sweet, vulnerable, genuinely good guy.

After the hug we just stood staring at each other for a little while. ( Both of us replaying where a different hug had taken us, I'm sure. )

"You never called or …" I didn't want to sound like some kind of shrew but I was hurt. He could have done _something_. _I had so obviously been practically begging him to stay—to NOT go to Vancouver and live with Sally. He couldn't have doubted that I wanted a lot more than just a "Bon-Voyage bang" that night. Right?_

"I wasn't sure you wanted to hear from me. ..because of what…I didn't know how you felt about what had happened."

Derek rubbed at the back of his neck the way he always does when he feels awkward or embarrassed. He took a deep breath, "I think I kind of …took advantage of you."

_What? _

"What?"

This wasn't anywhere near where I thought his mind had gone all these months! _He thought he had taken advantage of me? Didn't he remember the way I practically clawed his shirt off?_

"I let things get out of hand. I shouldn't have done that," he added guiltily.

"You think it was a mistake?"

_Oh… Did you hear that squishy wet plopping sound? _

_That was my heart actually falling out of my chest and hitting the ground between us. I now had no heart. I was now going to die for lack of a heart. Dead at only nineteen years of age and just one mere semester into college. (Granted I had packed quite a lot of achievement into that one semester. Enough achievement that your average slacker, aka Derek-my-suddenly regretful-stepbrother, would be thrilled to have accomplished in his entire lifetime of non-achievement.) Still, It was such a tragic waste of a promising young life like mine. _

If I hadn't been so stunned to actually be having this conversation, after so many months of imagining it, I might have been crying.

"You think that you shouldn't have done that?" I said in a pathetic , whiny whisper (Also, it turned out that I was not, in fact, too stunned to be crying.) I sucked in a big tremulous sob that made Derek wince a little.

"No," he answered but he reached out a hand and stroked one of my cheeks. "Casey…" he groaned—like _I _was hurting _him_ somehow!

I was the one crying—_my heart a bloody, meaty mess on the floor between us._

He was the one basically killing all the various ridiculous fantasies I had allowed myself to have about what our seeing each other again might mean.

Now both his hands were on my face, "I live on the other side of the country…"

His groaning had turned fierce, "Do you understand how far away that is? Do you get that it is far, far away from all my friends, my home, my family and far away from _you_?"

The caress had turned into kind of a death grip. It sort of hurt.

"Derek…" I pried his finger from my face but he jerked my wrists to his chest. His fingers closed around my bones like iron shackles.

He had that murderously pissed off look again, only this time I hadn't done a thing to deserve it.

"And I live with my girlfriend… " He shook me then.

"My girlfriend—who is right down stairs—who is your friend—who my entire family probably hopes I'm going to fucking ask to marry me…"

I was trying really hard to keep my sobbing to a quiet level. _No one else needed to know what was going on in my room_—it wasn't that I was embarrassed—not for myself at least.

It just was suddenly so obvious to me what all Derek's fighting had been about—how lonely and boxed in he had been for the last five months.

"Derek…" I tried again.

"And we live in two completely different worlds now too! You're a student and I'm…" he trailed off and I think it was because _I_ might have looked about ready to faint. I f_elt_ about ready to faint.

Derek's face drained of color and he looked at how he was bending my wrist bones towards each other—ready to snap them in his fists because of the way he'd been venting on me. "Oh my God, Casey!" His hands were back on my face, back to the original caress. "did I just hurt you? Are you okay?"

I was a little shaky (to tell the truth) but I thought admitting it might send him into another freaky fit of rage.

So, I tried to nod or smile instead. It wasn't going to work, "I'm scared," I whispered. Not of him—_of course not of him_—but f_or_ him and _for us_.

Because, clearly, he was close to his breaking point and it had gradually become clear _to me_ that I was also approaching mine.

I didn't know how many more activities I could take on without a Harry Potter time-turner. The ones I'd managed to pack my life with obviously weren't giving me enough control.

_And Derek! _

I'd seen him lose it plenty of times in high school—something Sally had never witnessed prior to his moving in with her. (That particular facet of Derek's personality must have been a shock for her—she hadn't seen him very clearly even when he was showing her the nicer, more manageable parts of himself.)

She thought she was being a trooper by over-looking the goofy silverware-juggling, emotionally stunted, impulsive aspects of Derek.

Did she really think _that _version of Derek had managed to hang on to the infinite clout and dominance he wielded in (what was undeniably) _his_ world?

Derek is, was, had always been, a loose cannon.

He didn't do feelings (like sympathy).

He didn't compromise.

He wouldn't back down or back off.

How the hell did she _think _he dealt with adversity?

Derek could be looking casual and calm as anything one minute and the very next minute he would be on top of some mouthy or defiant guy and pounding the crap out of him.

On the ice he was quick, unstoppable and ruthless—but _off _the ice—without all the trappings of pads, skates and penalties—he was _worse._

During high school, I'd gone on family vacations and shopping trips and away games with him (where he was thrown into a mix of people who didn't know better) so I'd seen him pull plenty of those hair-trigger attacks that were now splashed all over the papers.

Why couldn't Sally defuse or distract him? It hadn't taken _ME_ five months to get a handle on what made Derek tick and I hadn't been sleeping with him!

Like right now…Derek was starting the almost undetectable silent downward spiral of self-loathing that always followed his losing control.

"Derek…stop this…I'm fine. You're fine. No one downstairs even _heard_ us," I crossed my arms in front of me and mustered up an eye roll.

"I've seen much worse from you, anyway! Remember the beach vacation—when that guy pinched my butt? Remember shopping in Toronto and those drunk frat boys coming up to the two of us in the Chinese restaurant? How about when Marti and I got lost in Montreal and the creepy guy insisting we get in his car?..."

I had about a thousand other examples I could have rattled off—at least a thousand!

Derek got stressed, angry, insulted, challenged or occasionally just unhappily surprised and, then, he sometimes lost it. I could usually catch it in time but occasionally I was…preoccupied by the situation or ….maybe wanted it to happen (and here I am thinking about the beach and that guy who pinched my butt because that pinch actually left a mark! So I was sort of glad that Derek broke his nose—or at least I think he broke his nose because there was A LOT of blood and the creep crumbling to the boardwalk and grabbing his face before Derek whispered "Run!" and grabbed my hand to haul me through the gathering crowd.)

Which is beside the point…the point being that I couldn't mention the thousand other things

Because Derek had grabbed me again and was kissing me.!

It was that kind of kissing where the other person seems to be trying to suck the air out of your lungs—like he might want you to be lying bloodless and cold at the end of it. One of Derek's arms came around my waist, crushing our bodies together. His other hand was against the back of my head holding me in place. There would be no pulling away like before.

And of course—_Of Course_!—we were pressed together tightly enough that I could feel him getting rock hard as the kiss lengthened—_maybe he wouldn't want me bloodless and cold after-all?_

Finally, he gave me a chance to breathe and his eyes were dark and angry.

Did I just brag about knowing him and knowing how to handle him?

Because sometimes—for example THIS time—I had no idea at all how his mind works.

"What?" I gasped out in the little space he had allowed me.

"I want you," he said.

...

Oh for Pete's sake!

Sit down!

It is still way to early for the happy squee dance—trust me!

Did you forget that he has a live-in girlfriend happily watching an after-dinner movie and munching popcorn on the floor below us?

And that the live-in girlfriend was watching the movie with OUR family! A family in which we are siblings.

Did you forget that not only those _two major stumbling blocks_ were in the way but that basically _everything _that Derek said earlier was true—we lived on separate ends of the country and lived completely different lives…

Trust me…_we _didn't need to be reminded of it.

The earthy, growling, "I want you" took about a half second to change into something bitter and hard in his face.

He pushed me away from him—not hard but it still made me suck in a little moan of sadness.

"Right," I said and I sounded every bit the angry, about to cry jilted lover.

"Can you just do me one favor, Derek. Can you NOT screw your precious girlfriend in the next room? "

His eyebrows shot up.

"I mean, you have the rest of your life to do whatever you want with her, but I really don't want to have to hear the bed creaking, and your girlfriend screaming out your name…"

"Give me a break, Casey. The walls aren't that thin—I'm not forcing you to listen to anything…"

"The walls aren't that thin…" I mimicked him.

"Really? Do you know how many times I _heard_ you while we were growing up?" I could tell he wasn't sure whether he believed me or not.

"You want proof? Fine!" I took a big breath—_this could take a while_…

"I know that you lost your virginity to my cousin Vicky—while she shouted directions! _(How typical of Vicky! )_ I know that Sandra wanted you to be more gentle and that Kendra wanted it harder…"

His face was getting a little red, and even though I might have _wanted_ to believe that it was out of embarrassment, I knew it wasn't, o_f course!_ _He was just getting pissed off! _

"And you can just stop right there, mister, if you are about to accuse me of spying or intentionally listening; because even _Marti_ heard you screw Amy with the way she was moaning and making cat noises at the top of her lungs! I had to tell your little sister _that I_ had made those noises because I found a way to scratch my back with the fireplace tongs! "

Well, that left him speechless! I could have told on him and I hadn't—I'd even covered for him with his little sister!

"And I KNOW you snuck Emily in a few times senior year because she told me in full disgusting detail how _great_ you were in the sack, not that I wouldn't have guessed it with all her giggling and screaming! Really! Did she think I couldn't recognize her voice saying your name over and over again? I mean, REALLY? After the way she constantly went on and on about you for the entire three years…"

"Okay! Okay!" he finally shouted at me. "I won't have sex while we're here!"

And let me tell you, NO ONE was more surprised than I was that he was agreeing to this! _Derek not having sex for two weeks? Could it be done?_

Derek is a very sexual person—those girls I mentioned were just the girls whose names I _knew_!

He usually picked up and screwed girls from the opposing hockey team's high school (as further evidence of his domination over them, I'm sure.) And he nearly _always _brought someone home from every party he went to…

Okay, so, basically, Derek was a total whore and I doubted he could go longer than a few days without doing it!

I sniffed and looked down—cause I was working up one of those eyebrow cocked challenges that ALWAYS got to him. (And why hadn't Sally figured _that_ particular technique out yet either?—because I noticed that she was still trying the watery eyed pout on him and _I'd_ known that tired approach wouldn't be effective within the first _hour_ of meeting Derek. Strange. )

Sure enough the eyebrow got him. "What? You think I don't mean it," he scoffed at me.

"I just know how _selfish_ you are. I know how _mean_ you are too, and I think that you probably can't resist flaunting your relationship in front of me." I took several steps away from him. He looked at the space between us with an expression of dismay. "You're the one who let things get out of hand"—(Because hadn't he just admitted that that was the way he viewed what had happened?) "You're the one who took advantage of me when I was feeling vulnerable."

Derek squinted his eyes at me—he wasn't sure if I was trying to play him or not.

To tell the truth, I wasn't sure if I was trying to play him or not either! But I definitely knew that I didn't want to have to be a witness to him hanging all over Sally, letting her hang all over him, or listen in on whatever it is they did together in bed at night.

So I guess I looked like I meant it.

He nodded at me and then looked at the ground because he felt guilty …and embarrassed (_because he rubbed at the back of his neck—Oh I know you so well Derek Venturi! ) And now for the piece de resistance…_

"Besides Derek, _you_ wouldn't want _me _to bring someone home the next time we are home together … or what if I meet up with an old boyfriend again and _you_ have to watch _me_ with him? You wouldn't like _that_."

I thought it was best to not try and threaten with Troy Pitt again—mostly because it wasn't a threat at all and we both knew it. But old boyfriends? Derek has always _hated _my old boyfriends.

I could tell just looking at him that I had him then!

"Fair enough," he finally ground out.

We exchanged a solemn, all-business look.

It was the old Derek and Casey then, Sherriff and Outlaw staring each other down—only the stakes had changed a little.

Or those stakes had just come out in the open; it was hard to tell.

He quietly slipped back out my room and went downstairs to watch "The Elf" with the rest of the family.

I could hear everyone laugh and occasionally say things to the screen or to each other—except for him. He was brooding.

And I was lying on my bed feeling absolutely smug!

_Ha! Take that happy couple! _ If I was going to be cold and alone in my bed this holiday then at least I wasn't going to be the only one… _both of you can lie there cold and lonely too! Ha ha!_

So we had a week to get this McDonald reunion ready to go.

Of course _I_ had to re-plan the entire thing! My mother's plans were nothing more than a timid jumble of wishes and good intentions—it was going to take a whip and chair to make things happen in this house–I know! I have been making things happen here for the past three years of my life! Five months "out of the game" hadn't mellowed me one bit. I was ready to whip this family into reunion preparedness.

Day One–

I made Derek rent a car (since he and Sally had flown in and didn't have one).

Thank God Edwin had just gotten his license! Because—_no wonder George was so generous with loaning his car to Derek earlier_—George was once again _without_ a license!

But then—_big shocker_—it turned out that Derek _couldn't _rent a car because he had an impaired driving arrest in Vancouver _and ALSO_ was without a license!

All of which came to light in the car rental office!

"MY Derek, you have certainly been busy getting into trouble since you moved—what with the _fighting _and the _impaired driving_! Don't the Cannucks mind that their star player is such a _legal nuisance_?" I asked him haughtily as I slipped the rental contract out of his fingers and handed it to Sally.

"It's too bad he doesn't have you there, Casey," George piped up.

"Nora mentioned how you've started a paralegal internship with a firm that specializes in those cases back in Toronto. And hadn't they already given you a "Most Valuable Asset to the Firm " award for the last two months running?"

My face felt hot as George beamed at me.

Derek turned slowly to face me.

"MY Casey, you certainly have been busy AS WELL, huh? Are there even any _awards _ left to win in Toronto ?" Derek smirked at me.

Sally looked completely irritated with the discussion. She didn't get that Derek wasn't _really _complimenting me at all and had actually gotten a pretty good return slam out of that exchange.

But, then, she might have actually been irritable because of the way _Derek shut her down_ the night before.

Every time I heard the sound of her voice becoming a seductive purr, I coughed or hummed really loud to remind Derek that I could hear him.

And that _he_ could also hear _me_!

(Meaning, naturally, that he _would _hear me, _IF_ I were to choose to do anything that might be worth hearing—which I made it clear enough I most certainly _would entertain doing_ were I to hear anything myself.) Are you following this okay?

It might have been manipulative but I was completely sincere in my absolute horror at the possibility of hearing them go at it next door to me.

Not that I hadn't _already_ heard them _plenty_ of times before Sally left for university! Whatever it is that he does to her in bed... it makes her whine and complain about it _ad nauseum _: _"Derek….I don't want you to leave a mark….I don't want to be on top…I don't want to go down on you….I don't want to…"_

Apparently, Sally had a long, detailed, fully vocalized list of things she _didn't_ want done.

I certainly _didn't wan_t to listen to her complaining about all the things she _didn't want_ him to do to her while I was right next door wishing…no

…forget that…

After the car rental came the florist and the caterers.

—Sally was now the other driver so she had to take my mom and Marti to pick out food for the big reunion party.

My uncultured, gastronomically crude, culinarily vulgar, tasteless Neanderthal-like family had vetoed _my input_ on what we were feeding the guests.

"I'm just saying that salmon sashimi and toasted sesame puff pastry is an elegant yet daringly unexpected alternative to what you planned, Mom."

"I was thinking roast beef and rolls, Casey. Maybe we could use your suggestions for a different party…in the future….sometime…." My mom was giving me her best apologetic smile. I scowled at her.

"I say we boil a package of hotdogs, chop 'em up and stick toothpicks in the pieces." Derek offered.

Everyone had insisted upon a pizza break back home, before I assigned them their next errands.

I folded my arms in front of me and turned my scowl on Derek. "If _I'm_ getting voted out of the catering decisions then so is he," I said pointing at my stepbrother.

Sally reached over to pat him consolingly on the shoulder. I was still staring at him, annoyed about the food thing, but I think he misinterpreted it because he shrugged off her hand with a sheepish glance my way. It was hard to hide my smile.

"What are the two of you going to do while we're gone?" Sally was gathering up her purse and keys. It might have sounded like a polite, basically disinterested question but I knew better… _Suspicious much?_

Derek seemed oblivious to the tension between the three of us. He was staring at my list. "Looks like Casey and I are going to the florist—what the hell are we going to the florist for anyway? It's a reunion not a wedding.." he grumbled. But he sighed and took me by the arm to pull out the door with him.

Day two—

"Casey are you feeling alright? You kept having those coughing fits in the night." Sally was waiting for me to finish blow-drying my hair so she could take her shower.

She'd been a little more persistent with the purry voice last night and I'd had to practically fake an asthma attack on my side of the wall.

"Oh did you need to use the bathroom? I guess I can do this in my room!" My hair was already perfectly dry and gleaming though. I love my hair. I'd noticed that Sally forgot her blowdryer, because her hair was a little flat and stringy the day before. "Let me just get out of your way," I offered.

Just then, Derek emerged from his/their _(gag)_ bedroom . He was shirtless and stretching. His thin grey sweatpants not really concealing the fact that he had a morning hard-on. _Whoa…_

"Hi hon," Sally hummed, suddenly ignoring my presence. _Or maybe not really ignoring it at all?_ She smiled at him with a sort of arrogant "come and get it_"_ type smile. "Want to join me in the shower?"

_Oops I think I feel that asthma problem coming back to me!_ But I didn't really need to start the coughing theatrics, because not only had Derek _completely missed_ Sally's "come and get it" smile but he was _BLATENTLY_ looking _ME _ up and down.

Soooo.. I may have been wrapped in only a towel and I _may _have blown my hair dry with the bathroom door _open_ (when I usually keep it closed). No, I _usually_ blow it dry in _my room_ (to be perfectly honest)—but who can possibly _be honest_ or even in her right mind with Derek Venturi a thin wall away?

And the not having sex thing…was only making things worse for me. I was becoming obsessed with the control I had: When I coughed –he shut her down. _What a power trip! _

Not only did I have the satisfaction of keeping him from "getting it on" with her but I had the thrill of knowing that he was over there—in the very next room—suffering—denying himself—_because of me!_

And I think _he liked_ knowing the possibility that he wouldn't be able to hold out bugged me enough to keep me awake until Sally had thrown in the towel for the night.

Scratch that I think he liked it—_I know_ he liked it. He looked so annoyingly full of himself the last morning at the breakfast table. And he looked pretty cocky again this morning when worked his way up to my face _finally_—after taking his sweet time to practically lick my entire body with his eyes.

"Derek?!" Sally's voice made both of us jump.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Do I want to join you, yeah, yeah. I heard you. My entire family is in this house. ..what do you think?" he said insolent and annoyed.

I was trying to get out of the way and get back to my room—sounded like they were about to get in an argument and I definitely did not want to stick around for it.

Derek grabbed my arm. "Hold on Case—"

I don't think either of us could hide what the skin on skin contact made us feel. I felt that touch all the way down my arm and between my legs.

"Can you…"his voice was embarrassingly hoarse . (Enough so that I actually felt bad for Sally!)

_It must have been obvious! _

_Wasn't it obvious? _

_Hadn't it ALWAYS been obvious? What the hell was wrong with everyone? _

"I was wondering…if you…would make me pancakes…"

So that day—Day two—was the bakery and the decorations… Sally made certain that Derek and she were on the same errand team for the day.

Which was not ultimately an opportune decision on her part…

Because Sally made the COLOSSAL mistake of _pointing out a wedding cake to Derek!_

_Does she even know him at all?_

I was really starting to reevaluate my opinion of her.

She has always seemed so helpful and easy-going and good natured…but was she _really_ all those things?

I started thinking that what _seemed _easy-going was really just the expectation that things would eventually and _unfailingly_ go the _exact _direction she _wante_d them to go.

What _looked like_ a good nature was really a smug certainty that, with the right persuasion, the proper amount of manipulation, she could mold everyone around her into what _she_ wanted them to be.

What _appeared to be_ helpfulness was, in actuality, a spoiled girl wanting to be the center of everything.

I started to remember that –although she had offered to throw Marti her tenth birthday party—it was _me_ who made the cake and found the princess costumes and planned the few games that we had ready. When _she_ offered to make dinner that first night she came over it was _me _in the kitchen chopping everything and _me _getting burned so we could test the oil in the wok.

So I wasn't really feeling bad at all for her anymore. I was actually quite _resentful_ by the time Marti did a hilarious impression of Sally looking at the wedding cake photos while they waited to pick up the cake for the party and pastries for Christmas morning. I was wrapping everything carefully in plastic before putting it in the freezer. While Marti mimicked Sally holding up the book of wedding cake photos to try and entice Derek to look at it with her.

"So then Smerek told her not to hold her breath –that she wouldn't be needing one of those any time soon. And Sally's face got really red and she called Smerek a bad word. And then she hit Smerek with the wedding cake picture book and marched out of the store! The bakery lady thought Sally was my mom and Smerek was my dad. She told me that even though my mom had abandoned me that I was still a good girl and she gave me a cupcake! Then Smerek called Sally a bad word and she gave me _another cupcake_! We have to do that more often! What else is on the errand list, Casey? Can someone pretend to leave me there?"

That night I didn't even need to cough.

Sally wasn't speaking to Derek because of his behavior at the bakery. My mom wasn't speaking to Sally because she had left Marti at the bakery along with Derek. Marti wasn't speaking to my mom because she couldn't eat any of the frozen pastries until Christmas morning.

I wasn't speaking to Marti because she used the streamers as toilet paper and flushed them ALL. George wasn't speaking to Edwin because Ed "drives like an maniac" and got a speeding ticket on the way to get the decorations. Then, Edwin wasn't speaking to Derek because Derek had laughed about the ticket. Lizzie wasn't speaking to George because he insisted she miss soccer practice to help he and Edwin pick out decorations. Derek wasn't speaking to Lizzie because Lizzie made Marti tell the bakery story at the dinner table. And NO ONE was speaking to me because I had "ruined their lives" with my list of errands.

The complexity of the situation made asking for the salt or more mashed potatoes at dinner nearly impossible.

You ran the risk of brushing fingertips with someone else who either hated your guts or whose guts you were busy hating.

We all gave up and went to bed early.

But the night wasn't _all _bad, because Derek slept on the couch. _Yay me!_

TBC

_Author's note – sorry this sort of took longer than what I like it to take. I hate to ever go longer than a week and this was a week and one day! I should post again in a few days. And don't worry I would never leave something unfinished because it would drive me crazy to have an unfinished piece of writing –maybe I'm obsessive/compulsive. _

_Oh and big shout out to my sister—who is actually reading this—a fact which leaves me ridiculously proud!_


	4. Chapter 4

Day two continued --

Apparently my being home was about _the worst thing_ that could ever have happened to my entire family: (_Not that I was being overly dramatic, or anything like that_, _because I wasn't! )_

But…No one in the house seemed to like me very much since the reunion planning thing started. And I was just trying to be helpful!…

And organized!…

And thorough!…

And efficient!…

…but _NO ONE_ appreciates me …_NOT AT ALL_!

So, Derek was on the couch downstairs.

While Sally was in his room sniffling—(and yes I felt bad about it! ) I am a _terrible_ person.

I have no business liking my stepbrother the way that I do! And now, (just because of my perverted desires), he and his girlfriend (who was once my very good friend) are fighting and she is in the room next to mine—just a thin wall away—_crying_ and it's all my fault!

(I really AM a terrible person!)

But still it is _so unfair_ that _everyone_ in the house _hates_ me right now…

Did I agree to have the big family reunion at our house? No.

Did I leave Marti and Derek stranded at the bakery? No, again!

Did I pick out neon Santa faces, a door wreath that plays jingle bells or lime green tissue streamers (then use part of the streamers to wipe myself, flush it in the toilet watching the entire 73 feet of coiled streamer spiral away—_Marti! That little brat!)_ but the answer is No, No and NO!

All I wanted was to make my mother's family reunion the best possible family reunion it could possibly be…

I was starting to silently sniff along with Sally_. Only I had much more to sniff about than HER!_ (Did I mention the part about no one liking me? sniff sniff)

I was being unfairly blamed for _ruining Christmas!_

"Casey? Are you talking to yourself?"

"Go Away, Derek!"

"And you're crying too…" he opened the door to lean against the doorframe in that slouchy, sexy way he has.

And what _is it_ about _his voice_ that _always_ gets me? He always sounds a little creaky and low—like someone who just woke up—_it's a bedroom voice!_

No wonder girls start thinking about spending the night with him the minute he introduces himself; It's some kind of Pavlov dog response. He _sounds like_ he just rolled over in bed next you with that _creaky, low, bedroom voice_, and then you find yourself looking into those _sleepy long-lashed eyes_ and wanting the little fantasy your having to come true. _"Sure, I'll go home with you…"_

Derek snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Spacey? You still with me?"

His smirk was softer than usual, eyes slightly bemused instead of challenging. "Hey you didn't happen to write up an alternate plan for putting on this family reunion did you? You know, in case your first plan led to a general family mutiny?"

"Shut up, Derek." I tossed my tear stained pillow at him and it bounced off his head.

He swooped down to grab it off the floor and came at me shaking his head in mock sympathy. "I suppose I can see now that you're just tooooo miserable that your _first_ plan didn't work out…" Pillow gripped in both hands like he was getting ready to smother me with it.

I scrambled backward until my back was against the headboard as he advanced …"Stay back!" but the last word was a little garbled because he'd grabbed my foot and hauled me across to him.

"Yep…I can see that any effort I make to cheer you up will just be wasted…" He grabbed behind my knee—my most ticklish spot—making me scream…

"_Der-rek_!"

"_Like music to my ears,"_ he quipped and smiled greedily down on me while he made me squeal and squirm.

"Looks like instead of comforting you, I better just help you off yourself!" He smashed the pillow over my face and latched onto my other knee. I screeched with laughter and, though I couldn't hear him under the pillow, I could feel the laughter vibrations of his body over mine.

But even the pillow couldn't block out the door beside my own suddenly slamming open and Sally's voice barking out a lower, more authoritative version of my special split-pronunciation of my stepbrother's name. "Der-rek!"

(You know…it wasn't until that very moment that I noticed how utterly useless – absolutely pointless-- my own "_Der-rek"_ was in any given situation. I wasn't ever doing more than just proclaiming my outrage – _reacting_ but not ever really _expecting_ him to _actually do_ anything besides laugh at my general discomfort. No _wonder_ he went through all kinds of wild schemes trying to get that "_Der-rek"_ out of me! It was _silly_ and _girlish_ and… _ridiculous_! It carried _no bite_ whatsoever –

ESPECIALLY not _now that I had heard Sally do it. HER_ "Der-rek" was _filled_ with expectations…not just measly expectations even

…_DEMANDS_!

He was up off of me, and facing her, in the little time it took me to shove the pillow off and spit my hair out of my mouth. I watched her with my eyes bulging and my breath short. I just wished I had popcorn!

_Cause this, I had to see._

THIS was NOT how to deal with my stepbrother!

Remember that loose cannon thing I told you about before?

You needed to _convince_ Derek of something if you wanted him to do it—logic, guilt, an appeal to his sense of duty or the occasional moment of decency, the promise of reward (like… say… money or pancakes): these were all good ways to _convince_ Derek to do what you wanted him to do.

But this _other_ method? The _demand what you want _method?

Even George didn't try _that_ on Derek!

That method just plain didn't work!

As a matter of fact _that method_ was a sure fire way to get your ass beat when it came to Derek Venturi.

"I thought you wanted to _be alone_," Derek said to her darkly.

He pointed in the direction of the hallway, "Go back to my room."

He advanced on her in that slow, tense way that always tipped me off that the _"Don't Mess with Me"_ phase had come to an end, and the "_Or Else" _ phase had just commenced.

Derek grabbed her upper-arm and yanked her out of my room and towards his door. "Go back to bed. And, be _ALONE_."

Sally's face was flushed bright red and her nostrils flared. I'd never seen her so angry! She was frightening! Maybe more frightening than Derek was in that moment!

My eyes bounced back over to where my stepbrother stood trembling with suppressed rage—and _my opinion of who was scariest ping-ponged back to him as well._

Derek was hovering over her, fists clenched. Did he have no self-control left at all? What the hell was going on in Vancouver? Surely he wasn't going _to hit_ her?

"Don't talk to me like that, Derek!" Sally screamed at him. "I'm not some lackey for the Cannucks; I'm not the maid: I'm not your teammate…and I'm _NOT_ one of the flocks of strippers, fan girls and high-priced whores you _cheat on me_ with!"

No, go ahead and do it – Go ahead and gasp! Trust me—_I _gasped!

He was cheating on her?!!!

He was cheating on her with …flocks…and …whores…and …and …

WAIT A MINUTE, did Sally just say _they had a maid_?

Oh my god! I cannot _believe_ that they have a maid_! Was she live in or just a part-time thing? Did she answer the door and cook too?_ What the hell kind of unjust world did I live in?! I've been sharing a crappy sixth story walk-up apartment in Toronto, while my obnoxious, lazy_, barely graduated high school_, stepbrother _has a maid_. _I was pissed! _Because, regardless of anything else going on between the two of us, there would ALWAYS still a part of me comparing and competing –and _that_ particular part of me was currently stomping her foot, pointing and crying out to the cruelly indifferent universe, "Not Fair!"

No I haven't _forgotten the story_! I was getting back to that…

Mine wasn't the only hallway gasp! Lizzie was standing outside her room and holding Marti.

The basement door squeaked open below us.

And, finally, Edwin had come partway down the attic stairs with the look of knuckle biting reluctance that decent, law-abiding men get when they are worried they might be called on to perform some heroic act which will, ultimately, be hopeless, wasted and, most likely result in personal injury and humiliation. "Umm Derek?" Big gulp from Edwin. Then "Umm Sally?" nervous throat clearing from Edwin. "Maybe you _should_ just go back to bed."

But Sally had obviously gone over the deep end!

Because she got _even more up in Derek's face,_ put her hands on her hips and shrilled, "Oh I am going to be alright," she _pointed a finger in Derek's face._ "And YOU are coming to bed with me!"

I think all four of us "observing" the altercation between them opened our mouths at the exact moment to disagree with her:

"Maybe that's not such a…"

"I don't think…"

"You probably shouldn't…"

"Smerek just gets madder when…"

We were all cut off by Derek's _fist_ punching _through the hallway wall_, into his room and unbelievably _near_ Sally's _face_! For about the _five millionth time_, I wondered what _the hell_ had been going on in Vancouver?

_Finally_ Sally turned and went back into the bedroom. Derek yanked his hand back through the wall and wiped sweat away from his face. Now there were big chalky marks against his cheeks and in his hair.

From inside his room we could all hear Sally swearing up a storm and calling Derek all kinds of combinations of bad words.

I don't think I can repeat any of them, and not just because I _won't_ repeat any of them, but because I was absolutely stunned and staring at my stepbrother in _horror_.

Derek still looked really mad and not even a little bit apologetic or guilty.

Despite the horror—my heart was breaking a little for him.

I mean… it was pretty clear that George was still falling all over himself in a goofy star-struck way about _"my son, Derek, the famous hockey player"_ and my mom had dropped some not so subtle remarks that made it clear she was glad he _wasn't _living at home. .. but I couldn't help thinking that the big elephant in the room we were all not talking about was Derek's behavior the past five months and the pretty obvious _cry for help_ it signaled.

Punching his fist through the wall –nearly hitting his girlfriend—was extreme even for someone as aggressive and bristly as Derek.

George and my mom had finally climbed the stairs—George looked in horror at Derek's hand which was now dripping blood along with the chalky plaster dust.

"Son is your hand going to be…." George sputtered. "What about the Cannucks?!"

"OH MY GOD!" I whirled on George.

"There is more going on here than a hurt hand! How many times has Derek shoved broken fingers into

his gloves and played an entire play-off?"

I'd had enough of the elephant! I was going to solve this! I gave a hard look to George, "Go check on Mom and Sally and I'll doctor him up!"

I grabbed at Derek's sleeve and hauled him down the hall and into the bathroom. Before I shut us in, I caught sight of Lizzie gathering our little stepsister in her arms. Poor Marti had been frozen and wide-eyed watching a frighteningly half-crazed Smerek. She was probably traumatized! This had to stop!

In the bathroom I pretty much just stood behind him while he washed his face. When he finished, he slid onto the floor and banged the back of his head against the door. I slumped down beside him.

"Go away, Casey." _Yeah right…I knew he didn't really want me to go away…_

"You know you don't really want me to go away, Derek." _He counted on me to nag him to death in these situations—I had always acted as his moral compass whether he wanted me to or not. _

_Although, I always knew he did actually DID want me to. _

_He was always having phone conversations near me, leaving notes and other incriminating evidence where I might find it, pausing near my locker to explain a mean prank or evil scheme to one of his friends. Derek was a master of deceit—he did NOT make mistakes when it came to pranks, schemes and lies…he NEEDED me to keep him from doing things he would regret and we BOTH knew it. _

I smiled smugly at him. "So?"

Derek scowled at me but there wasn't much heat behind it. "Don't pull this angel on my shoulder stuff with me, Case. I think you've made enough of a mess out of my life—thanks a lot for that. You know…If it wasn't for you I would be living my dream life in Vancouver with the perfect girl. You _ruined it_."

His tone was flat and bored sounding—hmmmm…I think he was going for "defeated," but he was just too _Derek_ to ever truly, convincingly pull it off. There was _always_ fight left in him—_lots _of fight.

"There ARE better ways to break up with your girlfriend, you know."

He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. "I'm sure there are."

"But back to the elephant in the room …" I said. I crossed my arms over my chest. We WERE going to do this. I raised an eyebrow at him—he didn't look like he was going to fight it. Perfect. "Lets get started…shall we?"

"Whatever freak."

"You have been cheating on your girlfriend."

"Well…"

"Something that she made it more than clear—that she is perfectly aware of—hmmmmm….interesting…."

Derek rolled his eyes at me.

Interesting BECAUSE …You—being the _sneakiest, luckiest_, most experienced _liar_ in all of Canada—_would not_ get "caught" –not by Sally at least. Therefore …"

He had slumped his head to the side to give me a "you've got to be kidding me" expression. I tapped at my chin with one fingertip…

"So…_therefore_…you wanted her to break up with YOU FIRST…then you wouldn't feel like a total asshole for moving out there and moving in with a girl you don't really love."

"I'm left unimpressed, Sherlock, even Edwin and Lizzie are probably coming up with the same brilliant theory…"

"Oh I'm not done though…" I cut him off slapping a hand over his mouth.

"I ALSO think you have been trying this same technique with Cannucks—hoping you get to be enough of a nuisance that they finally boot you out!" He squinted his eyes at me. He wasn't going down that easily.

"Wait! Wait! I have more! Because obviously your twisted plan DIDN'T WORK with Sally or the Cannucks…"

I was tapping my finger on my chin again and now squinting back at him. I peeled my hand off his face.

"…hmmmmmmm…Why didn't it work though? It sure as hell would have worked on me. AND I always thought Sally and I were so much the same…"

More finger tapping as I mused…"Why _didn't it_ work? Did she not care? Did she just ignore it? There is NO WAY if MY boyfriend was cheating with …random fan girls and strippers and …"

"Shut up Casey." He snapped, rubbing at his hair. When he looked down at me his eyes were hard and dark. "Remember Sally using the notarized copy of my contract to get the apartment? Then she paid a decorator and bought a new car…and hired a maid…"

"Oh I caught that maid reference…don't worry…"

"She likes that stuff….she likes being with …" (Derek made quotations in the air)…"The Bad Boy of Hockey". …So…instead of dumping me…she just …looks the other way…" It would have been impossible to miss how his voice caught. He might have regretted moving in with her, and he might have even hoped she would kick him to the curb …but it obviously hurt him to realize he wasn't much more than an attention beacon and a cash-cow for a girl he had moved across the country for.

"Oh," I said lamely.

"Yeah…" he snorted and mocked me…"Oh."

Day three –

Okay now for the sickest, grossest, most disgusting and horrifyingly puke inducing part of the story…. _Oh I can barely stand to think about it_…

I woke up a little late that morning –with all the action from the night before can you blame me? Not to mention I was a little over-tired from all the coughing fits from the nights before.

But strangely enough… I was awakened by the smell of pancakes. _"How odd?!"_ I thought. Because, until that moment_, I_ WAS the only member of the McDonald-Venturi household to make pancakes. Who was the chef? Who would over-step… I mean step-on…I mean step-_up_… and make my particular feel-good family favorite breakfast specialty of _pancakes_?

I followed my nose down the stairs and through the living room (where Derek had apparently picked up all traces of his little campout on the couch—_how odd AGAIN_. Derek NEVER cleans up after himself.) Could it be that somewhere between playing professional hockey, getting in tabloid recorded fistfights, and cheating on his girlfriend, my ever-so-considerate stepbrother had learned a little about tidying around the home? Could it be? COULD IT?

No it could _NOT!_

And how did I know this? Because… as I continued to follow the homey, buttery, sweet yet wholesome aroma of pancakes into the kitchen…it became apparent that SALLY had made the pancakes. ( _Gosh…how …thoughtful_!)

And there was the chief _object_ of her culinary endeavors…DEREK nuzzling her neck with an empty pancake plate in hand…begging for _seconds_.

AND what _EXACTLY_ was he wanting seconds of?!

Because it was obvious by the rosy glow on Sally's face and the way she was giggling and the teasing way she playfully slapped his hands

away from her body…that her delicious _pancakes_ were not the only thing he had feasted on!

_That scum bag! That idiot!_ He _knew_ she was just using him for his fame and his money (although I'm sure his charm and hot body were not exactly cumbersome obstacles when it came right down to it) but how _COULD_ he?

"Oh Casey! I'm so glad that you're finally up! " Sally gushed. She wasn't above throwing me a superior look despite the spectacle she'd been a part of the night before. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind if Derek and I begged out of the reunion prep for today?"

Derek's face drained of color as he stared at my own expression—which I'm sure was outraged. I could only nod dumbly at Sally's words.

My mother came in from the laundry room with a basket of clothes—smiling—acting as if nothing happened the night before—_was I going insane—could it have all been a strange yet incredibly realistic nightmare I'd had? We weren't seriously all going to pretend that nothing had happened the night before –that we didn't all know that Derek was …spending his money on…hookers!…that he didn't punch his fist through the wall…God! _

"I think everyone needs a break from reunion prep" my mom sighed. "Not that you haven't done a great job, Casey, but we all might benefit from some time off…"

"Right." I snapped before she could get any further with how much everyone needed a break—from ME. "I'll just do some errands on my own then. Besides… there is THAT HOLE IN THE UPSTAIRS HALLWAY that needs patching and that should occupy me for a while." My voice was shrill and angry. Derek was sucking in one cheek and narrowing his eyes at me…not wanting me to "go there," and bring up the things said the night before, I'm sure…

"Just give it a rest, Case."

"Not to worry, Der…" I tossed my hair and stomped over to grab my purse and coat off the hook .

"Where the hell are you going?" Derek folded his arms and watched me struggle into my boots. "You're still wearing your pajamas…" he added as an afterthought.

I just glared at him and stomped out the door. _But, where the hell WAS I going_? An arctic cold front had come in over the night and it was almost unbearably cold and windy outside. I started the car and drove down the street before I realized I really only had one place that I _could _go.

Emily and I had drifted apart senior year while/because she'd been screwing my stepbrother and I hadn't stayed on friendly terms with either Max or Noel (and certainly not Truman) .

The great thing about Sam is that because he has four older sisters, he doesn't think its all that unusual when you show up on his doorstep, crying and wearing designer boots with pajamas. "Hey Casey, come on in."

He was eating a bagel and wearing a white terry bathrobe with sweatpants.

"Did you want some coffee _(and to talk about why you are on my doorstep crying in designer boots and pajamas)_

…or a place to crash _(instead of talking about why you're crying in the boots and pjs)_

…or do you need a shower or ….something… _(like chocolate or maybe a ride to an abortion clinic, drug treatment center or beauty salon)_ ?

"I think I'll just crash."

Sam looked relieved, "Well, you know where to go." He gestured vaguely towards his bedroom. "I'm just hanging out today but when you wake up…then…maybe we can…watch a movie?" Sam raised his eyebrows at me –he'd dealt with enough premenstrual / heartbroken /fill in the blank with whatever drives women to near psychosis—but he'd dealt with enough of it to know to be wary.

"Sure Sam. That would be great…"

Sam smiled and kissed my cheek and sent me off to nap in his room.

I decided I just needed to try this day over again. It hadn't worked out so well the first time, and maybe if I went back to sleep I would wake up without the aroma of another woman's pancakes ruining my morning. I threw off my coat and boots and crawled into Sam's warm, messy bed. _The perfect place to be on a cold Canadian morning…_ _And ahhh all the bedding smelled like Sam—all cinnamony and outdoorsy boy smelling_.

I almost _always_ regretted the boys I dated (once I was done dating them).

I counted most of my time with Max as _wasted_ time I had abandoned myself for a more popular, fun loving and ultimately false persona. Truman and I had parted as enemies.

And Noel? The last time I talked to him, (we ran into each other on campus when I was manning the Canadian Literary Artists of Tomorrow's information table) Noel was still acting all puppy-dog in love with me. (I really never should have dated him knowing the difference in our feelings… )

Then there was (Ugh) _Scott_ and (Eww) _Tony_ from the debate team...

…that guy _Kyle_ who filled my voice mail with long appeals about how I should give us another chance…

Oh and _Trent_ from the dance team (who had suspiciously always wanted to hang around the house whenever Derek was home)... (or Smelly Nellie's when Derek was working), (or the ice rink when Derek was playing)…

He'd actually called me "Derek" the last time we'd made-out and I couldn't help but bust out laughing—because _here_ was someone who actually stood _less of a chance_ than _I _did!

Not that I ever wanted "a chance" or anything like that!

…But if I HAD wanted my chance then…gosh…I _had to have_ better odds than poor Trent did with ultra-hetero-hockey -horn-dog, Derek Venturi. Trent and I parted as friends actually, but I lived in mortal fear that Derek would find out he was gay_, only_ dating _me_ to get to _him_ and never, ever, ever let me live it down.

But Sam…I never regretted Sam. He took the "lets be friends" thing seriously—which is really rare because ALL those boys I just mentioned (even Satan's evil twin: Truman) ended saying "lets be friends" and a smile but I couldn't imagine showing up on any of their front porches in my pajamas.

_And_ Sam was an _especially good friend_ to have if you were Derek Venturi's stepsister (and the object of the majority of his pranks, jokes and schemes) because… Sam _wasn't afraid _of Derek.

So he _wasn't afraid _to tip me off to some rather mean-spirited efforts by Derek to ruin my life. And he _wasn't afraid_ to disagree with Derek when Derek tried to un-invite, dis-include, or non-acknowledge me. _Yes I know two of those aren't real words but they still describe the active and aggressive tactics of my stepbrother to keep me at home, dateless and unknown. What a jerk!_

And he _wasn't afraid_ to hug or touch me in public or generally not treat me like a leper or like I had been dipped in nuclear waste water and rolled anthrax powder, which is basically the way Derek acted whenever our hands inadvertently brushed against each other or we were told to squish together for a picture.

As a matter of fact, Sam has always treated me _more_ like a loving _older brother_ than Derek who is technically _supposed_ to fill that role! And _no _of course I _DIDN'T WANT_ him to fill that role but still…._why did he always have to be so mean…. What a jerk!_

So I was peacefully asleep, nestled in the warm and soothing cocoon of my good friend's flannel sheets and fuzzy blankets when a loud banging noise made me jolt into consciousness. I sniffed the air suspiciously but it remained pancake free—ah comfort.

(Except for the banging noise, of course.) I wrapped Sam's cozy bedding around my shoulders and went to investigate the noise.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Sam yelled from the floor beneath me. I could hear the front door swing open.

"Hey D! Sally, hi!"

I looked down from the head of the stairs to where Sam was letting in my very cold looking stepbrother and his girlfriend.

"Sam, man, Sally and I wanted to stop by…." Derek was saying as he shook snow off his boots. Sally rolled her eyes and sighed.

"and I saw Casey's car…" Derek was looking around the front room—_looking for me_.

"Oh. Yeah, Casey's here, Dude." Sam was still in the white terry robe except now his hair was wet . "She's probably still in bed though."

Derek's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared; he had spotted me, wrapped in his best friend's blanket at the top of the staircase.

"Oh hey, there she is," Sam was oblivious to his friend's ire. "Case and I were going to watch a movie—you know and avoid the cold out there. You guys should hang out with us. Let me just throw some clothes on."

Derek had locked eyes with me—he was livid. _Good. … _I pulled the blankets around me tighter so he couldn't see I was wearing the pajamas I had on when I left.

"Sam," I called out. "Do you think it would be okay with Elaine if I borrowed some clothes of hers?"

"Sure," Sam chuckled as he came out of his room behind me and walked down the stairs. "Everyone's been asking about you since I've been home. My parents are just so grateful that you spent all that time working on my election as freshmen class president—it will look so awesome on my resume and my dad still has this fantasy that I'll have a career in politics. Did Casey tell you guys about how she volunteered as my campaign manager?"

"Wow," Sally grumbled to Derek. "Seems every time we turn around we're hearing about another of you sister's amazing accomplishments."

Derek made an indifferent grunt but that indifference was all show. I could see the emotions warring in his eyes. He felt worried hearing about all the extra work I'd taken on, angry about finding me with Sam, guilty about flirting with Sally this morning and irritated that no one saw my "amazing accomplishments" as the self-destructive acts they really were.

I couldn't handle the intensity between us, so I scampered off to Elaine Shepherd's bedroom for something to wear.

All Sam's sisters were flat-chested, lanky, and tall (basically Sam-looking, but female, which actually translated into perfect runway model good looks. As a matter of fact _three _of his four sisters _were_ models).

They jetted all over the world during the fall and spring fashion seasons (incredibly glamorous) and were consumed with dieting, working out and exfoliation during the remaining time (so _not_ glamorous that it wasn't even funny).

And I am telling you this, because it explains the importance of my needing _Elaine's_ clothes to borrow, as she was the _only_ non-model sister and, therefore, owned more than just evening-wear and sweatpants.

"Sam – where the hell are Elaine's clothes? Her whole room has been turned into a gym!"

"Whoops! I forgot that she had a meltdown when my sisters came back from fall fashion week and moved out. She even called Becky a "shallow whore" – my dad said it was kind of awesome."

And knowing Becky Shepherd – let me tell you it WAS kind of awesome. Oh and let me add Becky Shepherd (plus friend!) to the list of "_girls whose names I know_ " who spent time moaning and panting on the other side of my bedroom wall!

I may not have "plus friend"'s name to add but still… Derek had some nerve screwing Becky Shepherd plus friend (for 5 long _and loud_ hours straight I might add) after inflicting his "Male Code" on Sam and me. _Five Hours!_ and _Plus Friend!_ That _has_ to break not just the "Male Code" but all kinds of other codes more generally accepted by society. _Derek is disgusting!_

Anyway…Let me get back to the story…(if you aren't to grossed out after picturing Derek with two women and imagining what he might have been doing to them to elicit five hours of pornographic exclamations: _"Oh my god, Derek!" "Don't ever stop, Derek!" "I've fantasized about this for so long, Derek!" _)

Oh you aren't grossed out then?

Not even a little?!

And, NO I don't have any details! I was in the other room trying to plug my ears with Kleenex and rubber cement!

_And now I'm thinking that you're almost as disgusting as Derek!_

So ANYWAY… I ended up scrounging an outfit together from the other Shepherd sisters wardrobes –which explains why I was wearing a super-short black satin mini skirt and a peach camisole/clingy sweater combo-thing that (combined with the designer boots) made me look like a total hoochie mama.

An opinion confirmed for me when I walked down the stairs to the gaping expressions of Sam, Sally and my near-salivating stepbrother!

"W…w…wow, Casey, you look amazing" Sam stuttered.

"Aren't you a little over-dressed to watch movies?" Sally huffed.

"Go change." Derek's voice was deadly serious and his face was impassive as stone.

"I will NOT go change!"

"Yeah. You will."

"Will NOT!"

I settled into the couch next to Sam who slung an arm around me in a friendly way—a friendly way that Derek obviously didn't remember we used with each other.

"Listen…it's nearly five," Derek started. "Maybe we should go out…" He was eyeing Sam's hand as Sam sort of rubbed at my arm in an absent-minded way. "We shouldn't just sit around on Winter Break! Lets go DO something."

"Like what?" Sally whined. But Sam looked thoughtful.

"You know, D, I just remembered that Ralph said something about having people over to his place for a party tonight…kind of a high school reunion thing. Let's head over there in a couple hours." Sam grabbed the remote and pulled me closer to him. "You look cold Casey, snuggle up okay?" Sam leaned into me and started watching the television. "Let's catch some hockey for a few hours and order some Chinese. "

I smiled meanly over at my stepbrother and got up to order the food, "See Derek, I'm wearing the perfect thing for the party tonight." I sat up on the arm of the couch near where he had been lounging with Sally.

He didn't look all that _loungy_ anymore though; he looked about ready to strangle me! He was sitting up stick-straight and his eyes were flicking over my body the way they'd been doing since I first walked down the stairs in my slut-wear.

I crossed my legs slowly and wound the phone cord around one ankle. "Anyway, I'm really looking forward to seeing some of the old crowd… I haven't kept in touch with any of my other old boyfriends as well as _you,_ Sam…"

Derek's eyes could have melted steel. His hands clenched into fists.

But I ignored him. "…and I'm _soooooo_ looking forward to _reconnecting_…"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD

"This isn't the way my sweater is supposed to fit, you know." Becky Shepherd gestured towards my chest and shook her head, a sour look on her face. It turned out that she and her sister, Renee Shepherd, were not _nearly_ as _carefree_ with their wardrobe as Sam had led me to believe.

Becky, especially, was taking the fact that I filled out her camisole sweater the way she could NEVER fill it out a little personally.

"That's a size _small _and you OBVIOUSLY need like… _at least_ …a large…maybe even an extra large." I darted away from Becky's pointing finger (and sloshing beer cup).

Ralph's party was overflowing with people. It seemed like everyone from our graduating class had shown up – which made sense – we were all home for our first winter break after all.

Derek was, of course, treated like a god among mortals – all the guys were acting like they'd been best-buddies with him: slapping him on the shoulder and telling him how _"Dude – it's so great to see you again" -- _which was a total joke.

In high school, Derek had really only had a tight little group of friends. The rest of the people invited him to parties and hung out with him after games but were really not much more than the "fans" to him that they were now that he was a _national hockey star_ (instead of just a high school hockey star.)

A perfect example would be Chase Norlinds, who was currently patting Derek on the back and reminding him of the last time Chase's parents were out of town and Derek sort of threw a "surprise party" at Chase's house –

a "surprise party" in that _Chase didn't know_ he was having a party until someone handed him a flier to it.

And, as _another _matter of fact, despite the way Chase was currently acting about it NOW – (acting as though he and Derek might have planned that party together) – I _distinctly _recall Chase calling Derek _"a total dickhead"_ and even hoping out loud "_that that mother-fucker Venturi gets what is coming to him one day"_.

But, of course _now that Derek is famous_ and _rich, _ Chase had apparently _amended_ that hope to _Chase himself_ getting a little of what "Venturi had coming to him".

"Remember that awesome homecoming post party we threw junior year, Dude? That was so sweet!" Chase really needed to lay off the back patting thing – Derek didn't like to be touched. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning at my stepbrother's discomfort.

Derek looked genuinely confused for a second. "Were you there?" -- _ooooohh _ Chase's face made it clear that his _previous opinion_ of my stepbrother was flooding back _full force_.

"It was at my house.," Chase grumbled.

Derek looked nonplussed, "Huh."

"My parents grounded me the entire rest of the school year."

Still nonplussed, "Huh."

"You slept with my older sister that night. And then bragged about it in front of my dad."

"Your _dad_ was there?"

"He and my mom came home right before the police showed up."

Back to nonplussed again, "Huh. Sounds like a fun party. " Derek shrugged and let himself get led off by the little crowd surrounding him.

In all the excitement over Derek's arrival, Sally (and Sam and I) had gotten pushed to the side and ignored.

And, while Sam and I had basically spent the larger chunk of our teenage years accustomed to this sort of treatment, it was _pretty obvious_ that Sally was not coping _quite as effortlessly_. She was slamming back her _fourth_ big plastic cup of "fruit punch" since arriving.

"Sally…you might want to go easy on that stuff because it's practically straight Everclear," said Ralph, popping up from the mass of people swarming his house.

Sally just scowled at him and continued drinking. _Some people make such unattractive drunks._

Sam and Ralph did that obnoxious half handshake / half hand slap thing that all guys do when they see each other. _Why can't boys just greet each other normally? – Ugh…they always have to act so cool._

"So Casey, I really like that outfit you're wearing, " Ralph said leering at my cleavage.

"Yeah thanks, Ralph." I don't think I could have sounded any drier if I tried.

"You know that guy you dated back in high school is here. Trent? Remember him? Wait till he sees you dressed like that!"

"Uhhh…"

Just then a mass of dark curly hair smashed into my face and Emily's arms circled my neck (nearly squeezing the life out of me) but I was still glad to see my high school BFF – _so we hadn't gotten along that well during senior year_ … (sigh!)

I guess I _couldn't blame her_ for falling at my stepbrother's feet like _every other female in the school_.

I mean…_really_… what is the _use _of feeling resentful or betrayed when, really, my former BFF was only _just one more_ _boxcar_ in the long _train_ of women that Derek screwed in high school – (and it was especially hard to hold a grudge while I had managed to succumb _myself _to the great Derek Venturi and could now be accurately described as _the caboose_ in that train. _Derek – that bastard!_ ).

"Emily it's so great to see you!"

"Oh my God! It's great to see you too Casey!" We both bounced up and down and squealed – to which Ralph commented, "Why can't girls just greet each other normally? – Ugh…they always have to act so dramatic."

After the squeal , Emily gushed…."Sooooooo…Did you come here _with Derek_? I just saw him by the back porch but he was surrounded by too many people for me to say hi – but OH MY GOD! – Is it just me, or is he EVEN HOTTER than he was in high school?"

That's right my friend – I had "spoken too soon" as the saying goes. Emily was _just as worthy_ of my _resentment _and _feelings of betrayal_ as she had been our senior year!

Somehow I managed to pry her arms loose from around my neck – but she _was still talking_ – my smile got tighter and tighter feeling on my face, and my nostrils felt like they were flaring with hot coils of smoke. My eyes were narrowing into teeny, tiny, razor-blade-width slits.

Emily was oblivious and just gushed on, "Those muscles -- whoa! I've just been salivating whenever he is in the news –those cool pictures of him in handcuffs with that same cocky Derek smirk on his face – whoa! He still has that totally gorgeous bad boy thing going on. You know?! Only now he's _a celebrity_! And here he is – back in London! Oh I can't believe it! Back in the flesh! And _speaking_ of _flesh_…do you think you could arrange to hook us up? Maybe invite me back to your place for the night or something?"

"Ummm…"

Oh I know. It isn't eloquent…it isn't witty…it isn't up to what I consider to be my usual snappy (yet completely observant and accurate) comebacks when I'm irritated.

But, what can I say? I was rendered speechless! Not JUST by Emily's presumption that I might actually help her to score with my stepbrother…score AGAIN I mean_…"Oh Derek! …Derek!…Derek!"_ – (Ugh I think I'm going to puke).

No not _just by_ this but ALSO by the fact that she said it IN FRONT OF Derek's extremely drunk, overtly possessive, itching to take her problems out on someone, live-in girlfriend, SALLY.

I mean, for all the times that Sally had "taken the high road" in the whole romantic jealousy game …

(but I spoke about this earlier – how, in my own humble opinion, her particular "high road" was actually a deeply seeded conceit that in the end, _no man alive_ could _resist _doing what she wanted him to do)…

but for _all _those times… (and also because spending five months living with Derek had proven to her that …_ummm…yes_… apparently there WAS a man alive who could resist doing what she wants…even for _no other reason_ than to, in fact, _demonstrate_ that he _could_ resist doing what she wants…and, trust me,_ no one on the face of the earth _is better at _demonstrating resistance _to _another person's wants_ than my charming stepbrother Derek!) …

But ANYWAY….

DESPITE all those previous times, Sally looked…no that isn't right…Sally WAS absolutely and undeniably _ENRAGED_ by what Emily had blurted out to me!

Her face was beet red and her upper lip curled back. She dropped that fourth cup of "fruit punch" onto Ralph's shag carpeting, swung her blond hair over one shoulder, screamed "Think again slut!" and POUNCED on top of my former BFF!

_OH. MY. GOD. _

I clawed through the mass of partiers toward the clutch of admirers surrounding my stepbrother.

"_**DER-REK!"**_

A crack in the tight group of fanboys splintered at the sound of the voice, and Derek (who's expression had been an _ungrateful _mixture of bored and pompous ) looked towards me in alarm.

"Jeez Casey! What the hell is the matter?"

But at this point all I had to do was point, because the focus of the party had _decidedly shifted_.

Even the wondrous presence of Derek Venturi -- formerly JS Thompson Hockey God and currently Canada's Hockey Bad Boy -- couldn't compete with the sensational allure of …

"Dude! Check it out! _CAT FIGHT_!"

I rolled my eyes at whoever said that, and gave Derek a pointed look. "Go over there and DO SOMETHING."

Derek shrugged at me and turned his back on the ruckus. "YOU go do something if you care so much about it." He tipped his beer bottle to get a long drink. His eyes were on me the whole time – trying to determine what _and if _I might actually take his suggestion and "do something".

"Derek…" I sputtered. "I …ugh!...I cannot believe you! Two girls are over there fighting over you – GOD ONLY KNOWS WHY?! – and you and I BOTH know that _you_ are the one they _should be_ throwing punches at! You don't care about either of them! You used them!"

Derek narrowed his eyes at me, "I cared about them. I thought I sort of loved Sally once and Emily has always been my friend."

I scoffed at him. "Oh please! Even if that were true – you blew through so many girls before and after – even _during _them! Your actions – your _slimy user actions_ – show how deep those feelings went."

I scoffed again. A _flamboyant, disdainful scoff!_

"Face it Derek; you USE girls for your own cheap, sexual _thrills"._

And of course I was thinking how I could include myself as one of those _cheap thrills_. _Derek – that bastard!_

(Too bad the whole thing between us was suddenly cut short before he could really get off. He probably didn't even count it as real sex.) _Derek -- that pig!_

"It's …disgusting…and…(Oh crap I could feel the tears running down my face) …and…WRONG!

Derek grabbed me by the arm and hauled me out the patio door to the Ralph's crappy uneven back porch.

There was a grill with charcoal glowing in it -- thank god – Canada _is not_ a good place to just casually stroll outside on a winter night without your coat (and dressed in a slutty satin mini skirt and sweater camisole).

"Case, if you're trying to say that I _used you_ that night…" he spit the words out angry and disgusted.

His hand was painfully gripping my arm and his eyes were taking me in – and not the ridiculous clothes I was wearing or my shivering body – _me_ – the tears I was crying and the expression on my face. He always cut right through to the core of me like that.

"Case, If _that_ is what you're trying to say then it's pretty low…and _total_ _bullshit_. I didn't use _you_ – that wasn't just some _thing_. That night has been ruining my life since it happened!"

"Oh give me a break Derek," I wished I wasn't crying when I said it, maybe sounded a little tougher or more calloused to what had happened between us five months ago. But tough and calloused have never been in my repertoire of emotions.

The whole day had been a disaster as far as I was concerned.

My family had rejected my leadership in planning the reunion. Derek had rejected me for Sally. I'd been forced out of my home (by severe emotional strain!) wearing only pajamas.

My former best friend was trying to use me as a pimp…

Not to mention… that I was sure at any moment I was going to die of hypothermia because I was standing outside on a snowy Canadian night dressed like a total whore…

I poked Derek's chest with one finger, angry and hurt.

"I can't believe that _one ten minute encounter_ did _anything_ _at all_ to your life…" I accused.

His eyes burned into mine and his lips were pressed so tightly together that they were nearly white. For once I couldn't tell if he was angry or upset. _He looked sort of sick actually_.

"God Derek! You slept with nearly every girl in our high school. You even slept with my _best friend_! And last night I _know_ that you slept with _Sally _– even _after_ telling me that she just _uses you_…"

He definitely _did_ look sick: he was trembling as bad as I was now.

He cut off my rant, "I'm not proud of any of that, Case. Not about last night and not about high school. I wasn't _happy_ or anything while I did that stuff." He tried to put his arms around me but I pushed him off.

"Then why did you do it?" My voice was hoarse and filled with tears.

Derek didn't answer but just gave me the same burning stare.

Then he forced his arms around me and I was too cold to refuse him.

"Casey," his voice was gravely and sincere. "What the hell _else could_ I do? What the hell else could I _ever _do?"

"What do you mean?" I asked pressing my face into his chest.

I think I _knew_ what he meant though. I _always_ knew, really.

And it would have been so much easier to take if I _didn't know_. I mean, Derek screwing everything that moved would have been _so much easier to take_ if I hadn't been thinking of _what might have been_ and _knowing_ that _he too _was wondering _what might have been_ – while neither of us could do _anything_ about it.

We just couldn't…

We _wouldn't_…

"Don't try and tell me sleeping with all those girls didn't make you _happy_. I could _hear you_ next door to me, you know. I _heard you_ for three _years_." I looked up to glare at him.

And _surprise, surprise_…Derek wasn't grinning back at me with his evil, self-satisfied smirk for once.

"I can't explain it, Case. Maybe you just don't get it because you're a girl, or maybe you just don't get it because you're YOU…" He huffed the words

out –his breath was foggy between us.

"I mean…yeah…I _had fun_…I was…_entertained_…but I was never _happy_."

I sniffed. The cold air felt like knives inside my lungs, "Well I _definitely wasn't_ happy."

"I know." He palmed my face. "I couldn't …I _can't_ …do anything about that though…" His lips met mine and he kissed me hard – pressed us together so closely that I could feel his heart beating and his lungs fighting for air before we finally broke apart.

When we _did_ break apart, I had to take a big shivering breath.

"Derek, " I gasped out. "You _have_ to break things off with Sally. This is ridiculous! At _least _do that, Derek."

He was looking into my eyes and he looked a little less sick and a little more peaceful than I'd seen him since the night began.

"_Please,_ Derek. You'll _never_ be happy if you keep letting her sponge off you – if you never give yourself the chance to meet someone else." My voice broke at the last. Of course, I _didn't want_ him to meet someone else.

But I knew what I told him was true…for the best. He _couldn't _move on with his life if he kept trying to make that horrible wreck of a relationship work…and _I couldn't_ move on with _my_ life if I thought he wasn't doing the same.

It was so sad.

You think it's sad too. Don't you? Hell_, anyone_ would think so --

Derek leaned his forehead against mine. "Okay," he whispered.

It was a beautiful, sad, tragically romantic moment. And it belonged in a movie, or a romance novel, or maybe the _Lifetime Television Channel for Women,_ but…unfortunately…it _wasn't _in any of those places.

It took place on the slanted, nearly falling apart, back porch of Ralph's crappy circa 1972 rental house.

And to further add to the unfortunate-ness of the beautiful, sad and tragically romantic moment…it was rather _abruptly ended_ by none other than _Sheldon Schleper_!

"Venturi!" He sounded kind of …mad.

"The Schlep" (who hadn't changed one bit since high school and was even wearing one of those god-awful yellow and blue striped polo shirts he wore nearly every day at JS Thompson) had slammed the sliding glass door aside with a powerful THWACK, but then stumbled a little on the uneven wood planking. It caused him to more "stagger" than "stomp manfully" (at least I _think_ it was a "manful stomp" he had been going for) as he made his way to stand imposing-ish-ish (maybe one more "ish") to face us.

Derek still had his arms around me and was rubbing his hands over my back, and _I guess_ it could have looked like he was just trying to keep me warm. (Which would have been a nice normal stepbrotherly thing to do.) Of course there was no "nice normal" explanation for what we were doing alone out there in the dark in the first place. (Oh and don't forget that I'm dressed like a high-end truck stop hooker!)

"Ven….Venturi!" Now Sheldon sounded a little fearful on top of his "mad face" (add another "ish").

"I've had enough of your sadistic, self-serving treatment of the woman I love."

Derek looked at me with a vaguely confused expression on his face.

I leaned in to him. "Emily," I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.

Derek mouthed a silent, "Ah hah!" and nodded. He motioned with one hand for Sheldon to continue.

Sheldon looked a little sheepish in the face of Derek's nonchalance. "Well, that was all I had to say," he mumbled.

But …_wait for it!..._

(And give The Schlep his props) he hauled off and _slugged_ Derek _right in the face_!

There was a chorus of gasps from the periphery of the porch (where Ralphs's nice toasty circa 1972 central heating would still be keeping the ogling spectators quite comfortable).

And I gasped too, of course. Even Sheldon gasped! – (shocked that he had taken this uncharacteristically rash action, I'm sure. )

Actually, the only person who seemed _unfazed_ and _unaffected…_

… was _Derek_!

Sure, his head had snapped back a little (really only a very little) at the blow, and I could see his tongue sort of probe the inside of his cheek where Sheldon's fist had met it (but not really in a conscious way).

However, other than these two nearly undetectable actions, Derek seemed almost _unaware_ that Sheldon had displayed any physical aggression against him at all.

"Sheldon, dude, it's good to see you. You look exactly the same." Derek's voice was completely casual, just a notch above the mostly bored tone he'd used with everyone that night – Chase Norlinds practically offering to drop to his knees and kiss his ass and Sheldon attacking him in a jealous rage were apparently of equal interest (and that means …_very little_ interest) to him.

Sheldon was rubbing at his fist and looking scared. No doubt national news had reinforced for him that my stepbrother was still the loose cannon he'd always been – and no one would ever accuse Sheldon of being a _stupid _geek. "Uh…hey Derek," he attempted to offer back in a similarly casual tone.

"Oh my God! Sheldon!"

Emily stumbled out onto the porch to throw herself at Sheldon. She looked a little haggard; Sally had ripped one sleeve off her sequined top and yanked some of her hair out – _or at least messed it up real bad?_ – Also, there was a scratch across one cheek that could only

have been made by Sally's talon-like French manicure.

"Are you okay?!" she panted dramatically. "I never meant for you get involved in this!"

(Even I had to roll my eyes – if that gives you a barometer for just how corny it had gotten on Ralph's back porch.)

But, then, Emily turned towards Derek and me with a look that was every inch the genuine and level-headed girl who had once lived next door to me and been my best friend at JS Thompson.

"I _am_ really sorry about this. It's my fault. I was the one who was still nursing a ridiculous…" her voice trailed off as she seemed to perceive the way Derek was still holding me (he could have just been keeping me warm)…

and the obvious evidence of tears on my face (I might have been crying about something else…like the horrible circa 1970 décor of Ralph's rental house – trust me the gold Fleur-de-lis wallpaper alone could bring tears to anyone's eyes). ..

But the thing is …Emily knew both of us so well that _neither_ or those paltry _excuses_ would have worked longer than one second on _her._

"…I…I never though Sheldon would …actually…do something …like…" Emily's voice trailed off _again_ and her expression melted into sorrow.

Her eyes met mine, _"Oh my God, Casey,"_ she whispered. _"I'm so sorry."_

(But there was really no need at that point to whisper because her, me, Derek, Sheldon – we ALL knew what she was _really feeling sorry for_ and most of the ogling spectators had already gotten bored with the lack of action and wandered back into the warmth to continue getting wasted.)

I choked a little sob out and nodded at her. I remembered that I couldn't _really _blame her – _why _I couldn't really blame her – and I actually felt a kind of kinship I hadn't before. Now she, just like me, just like Derek, knew what it was to be collateral damage to McDonald-Venturi family union. And that feeling sucked.

Derek's arms tightened around me and he pressed his face into my hair. "Let me take you home, Baby. This isn't really your scene anyway. " He pulled back to smirk at me. "Even if you are dressed perfectly for it," he said throwing my words from earlier that night back at me.

"Hey Sheldon, Do you think you can ask Sam to drive Sally home? I definitely don't want to deal with her right now."

"Yeah! No problemo, Der! I will get right on that!"

I wasn't sure if I expected to see Sheldon salute or morph into Edwin.

Derek was pretty subdued on the way home and even after we got there.

I went upstairs to melt away my problems in a steaming hot bath.

I think I poured an entire bottle of lavender bath crystals into the water because the label advertized it as having the power to "diminish stress".

I wanted my stress diminished down to a pinprick before Sam dropped off a drunk, beaten up Sally.

No such luck.

I had to cower in the cooling lavender bath water while she and Derek reenacted the previous night (only with additional punching of things and threats from my stepbrother …and interesting elaboration by Sally on Derek's illicit sexual activities : "and she said you told her you would pay her to pretend _she was your sister!_ You want to screw little girls! You should be locked up!" )

Derek's defense on this point was that Sally was "not just insanely jealous but just plain insane" and that "anyway why would she listen to what some hooker had to say about him."

"You passed out and I had to PAY HER, Derek! Kinky shit like that COSTS EXTRA!"

My mouth was hanging open far enough to get a big swallow of lavender water. What exactly was Sally angry about here?!

She obviously hadn't put it together that _the sister_ in _that particular_ sex fantasy had NOT been Marti. It sounded like Sally was mostly angry about _the additional expense_!

_I can't believe her! Doesn't she care about Derek AT ALL? ! _

I scrambled out of my lavender stress-diminishing bath ready to beat that bitch down! Too bad I only had a towel to wear and …I was panting to get myself under-control…_Oh yeah…I don't believe in violence…_

When I finally opened the door I was aloof and certain.

The two of them paused in their fighting to take in the novelty of my presence. (I guess the rest of the family decided it was easier to ignore that elephant in the room during the day, if they pretended not to hear it trumpeting and stamping during the night.)

"Derek, I don't see why Sally can't _go back to her own house_ for the remainder of Winter Break. Her family _must want her there_ and this arrangement is NOT working out."

Derek nodded at me and then looked at Sally again. "It's NOT working out at all," he agreed.

Sally's eyes got glassy and her bottom lip trembled. "What are you saying Derek?"

He looked on her with all the compassion of a hanging judge, "I think you know what I'm saying."

And that was pretty much the end of Sally.

LWD . LWD . LWD . LWD. LWD...

Day Four

…TBC


	6. Chapter 6

LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD –

Day Four --

The next morning, there was a big follow-up scene to Derek's one sentence break up with his live-in girlfriend.

Sally's brothers came over to "finish moving her stuff" (one not very big rolling suitcase that, really, Marti could have pulled to Sally's rental car by herself).

I'm not sure what Sally _hoped _would happen but Derek just looked amused at the two scowling and muscle-flexing brothers.

He explained to me later… that most of the opposing hockey players he faced these days _couldn't wait_ to be _the one_ to take _Hockey's Bad Boy_ down a notch: …slam him into the boards …punch him out …kick his ass all over the ice. ..

(Well you get the picture.)

"I pretty much assume _everyone_ wants to do _something_ to me and I don't really mind it anymore…"

"That is a horribly cynical point of view, Derek."

"I have no idea what you just said."

But whatever Sally had hoped for was sort of lost with Derek smirking at her brothers – looking for all the world exactly the same as he had looked on the cover of _Sports Illustrated_ earlier that month.

Because Sally's brothers had been away at university when She had dated him during Derek's junior year -- they never got to see him as just "Derek – _an obnoxious assistant manager from Smelly Nellies who wants to date your sister_" and instead saw him as "that famous Hockey player who constantly makes not _just_ the sporting news but also (quite regularly) the tabloids and (even occasionally) the 'Celebrity Crime & Trials' sections of the regular papers."

Really, I don't think Sally would have been too happy at all about them accepting autographed copies of the _Sports Illustrated_ (George had bought fifty copies) not to mention the free Cannucks beer-can cozies (again courtesy of George and his lifetime supply of all things glorifying his son's career).

"Great meeting you. Stop by any time!" Derek said as he ushered them out the front door.

I watched him with my arms folded over my chest and what I was sure must have been look of disgust on my face. "Don't you EVER suffer ANY consequences for the things you do?"

Derek's expression was blank – or _would have been blank_ to the _average_ person. I stood to stand in front of him, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

Uh oh. What the hell had I tapped into here? Derek has no problem talking about what's wrong when it isn't a big deal.

"Derek…"

But if I thought I could melt it out of him right then and there I had my work cut out for me. My mom was suddenly before us wringing her hands with her headache face on, "Casey? Is it too late to beg for your forgiveness and ask you to _please, please, pleas_e take over the reunion planning again?"

"What's happening Mom?"

"It's Fiona and Harold, a pipe in their house burst so, while the contractors fix everything, they decided to take their vacation early."

Derek had plopped into his recliner and was already surfing the television, "Sounds cool. Where are they going?"

I rolled my eyes, "Umm…_here_, Derek. And they're bringing _Vicki _with them…"

I must say; I do enjoy that blushing and rubbing at the mouth thing Derek does when he gets uncomfortable or anxious.

Those tells of Derek's used to be akin to fireworks and a marching band parade to me back in high school. It meant that Derek was getting _dangerously_ _close_ to …something …_unpleasant._

And, since he never suffered any consequences for the things he did or didn't do, Derek at least suffering _unpleasantness_ was usually somewhat …_satisfying_…for me.

"That's right!" my mom seemed to be reaching back in time to what was _obviously_ a _very_ distorted vision of her sister's wedding. "Derek, you and Vicki were _friendly_ weren't you? Maybe you wouldn't mind keeping her busy for a few days before the holiday?"

I think the smile on my face was blinding! _Ha! Try and get out of this one Venturi! _

What my mom _didn't _remember (but to be honest she never really knew the whole story about either) was that Vicki had tried _to date_ Derek after Fiona's wedding.

And, while Derek was happy to hook-up with her on occasion, he didn't really understand the _depth_ of Vicki's _attachment_ to him.

And, when I say "_depth_" what I mean is…an obsessive sort of – _if I can't have you then no one will… and did I mention I'm saving the hairballs from your trashcan along with your nail clippings, used towels and lots and lots of pictures that I took of you from my car which is parked outside your window?_ – type of _depth_.

Oh and when I say, _"attachment"_ what I mean is…this craziness lasted for _6 months_ and even had a three week relapse junior year (after our family was forced to eat a miserable Easter dinner at Fiona's house).

Well this was as close as I was going to get to Derek suffering some consequences

…_and it tasted sweet, sweet, sweet_….

Derek looked horrified. "Um Nora…I don't…"

"Please Derek, I would ask Casey but she needs to get everything ready and…I am _so_ stressed out right now…" my mom squeaked.

"Nana Susan and Papa Fred are insisting on coming early now too because they think that Fiona and I are leaving them out…and my mother…I mean Nana Susan always walks around the house and lifts the knickknacks to make sure that I am dusting and my dad…I mean Papa Fred always insists on rewiring the light-fixtures …."

I was rubbing my mom's back to express my sympathy because what she was saying was exactly true.

My Nana Susan _did_ conduct a thorough (and usually _unflattering_ assessment of my mom's housekeeping skills when she visited) and Papa Fred (who used to be an electrician before he retired) _did_ rewire the light fixtures (which never failed to short out – sometimes in spectacular explosions – the next time someone flipped a light on).

"_Please_ Derek?..." my mom actually had tears in her eyes _(whoa she really was stressed out)._

"Uh…" Derek was looking very flushed and when his hand swiped his mouth again I could hear him mutter, _"Someone fucking kill me"._

But he couldn't resist my mother _( who I know he loved even more than his own mother)_ especially when she was desperate and teary,

"Sure, Nora," he muttered dejectedly.

He glared at my barely concealed mirth. "I'm sure Casey and I _both_ can keep Vicki happy, _right Case_?"

"_Wrong _Derek! _I'm_ throwing together a reunion—at the very _last _and _unprepared_ minute—did you not _hear_ the beginning of my mom's freakout?"

But he wasn't listening to me anymore – too busy giving me that muscle clenched, narrow eyed look that usually lead to his springing to grab the remote, or the last piece of pizza, or the keys to the car, or any of the other little things that he loved to _take_ from me _by force_. The only thing was…I didn't have any of those little things…

Since Sally's departure the night before, the air had become charged around the two of us.

Every time he looked my direction I could feel the way wanted to peel off my clothes piece by piece, and how angry it was making him that he _couldn't._

When Sally had finally finished storming around the house – gathering her things to take back to her parents (and Good God! – was it possible to even make any more clamor than she did? There was cussing and slapping and twice Sally lobbed things at Derek that hit the wall so hard pictures fell.)

It was truly, _AMAZING_ the way my family managed to _fake sleep_ through the _entire_ thing – although I could hear Edwin and Liz cheer when Derek FINALLY closed _(and locked!)_ the front door behind her.

The whole time, I'd been sort of flitting around the edges of things – righting the fallen pictures, getting ice for Derek's cheek (he waved me away – "Just go to your room, Case, I really don't need her turning on you next" ).

I didn't listen of course and went on to gather up Derek's clothes that Sally had flung from their designer luggage.

I would have even folded them, but it would have reminded me _a little too much_ of the night I had helped my stepbrother pack for Vancouver …and _that_ would have reminded me of my own guilt in the major snit his newly ex_-(yay!)_ - girlfriend was destroying the house with.

I was sitting on the stairs in my pajama's by the time she had gone and Derek had slumped against the front door.

We shared the quick smile we used to share as teenagers whenever we managed to pull off the impossible – the post Fiona's wedding, post Edwin/Lizzie dance party, post summer camp variety of smile.

It only lasted a second though before the electricity sparked…

Derek's eyes darkened; his jaw locked – I wasn't sure if he was planning on _hurting me_ _or finishing what we started_ that night before we parted ways five months ago.

I _was_ sure that I _didn't_ want to stick around and find out.

No, I really _do_ mean that…

I know, I know…_listen…I know_….

I've been going on and on about wanting him like crazy. The way his jeans fit, his voice, his smirk , the gorgeous long-lashed _"come and get me"_ look in his eyes but…it 's just …he sort _scared_ me okay?

I mean…what do I know about Derek's kind of "being with another person"?

I'm a 'boyfriend girl'.

I go on maybe _one_ date – when I am already _certain_ that I like the guy and hoping we have a future together and then --_voila!_ – I have a new boyfriend.

And even this chain of events is a _little risky_ for me. I prefer the way Max and I started dating…he asks me to be his girlfriend, meets my family, I meet his and then we go on our first date.

_But Derek? _

What was it he _wanted _from me exactly? The two of us had always been more about _NOT confronting_ what was there than …._whatever it was_ Derek expected of me now that he'd removed this latest barrier to our ..._consummation._

Derek was a lot more… _experienced_ and …_aggressive_ and …_mean _and …_unpredictable _and … _jealous _and …_unmanageable _and… _demanding_ and …_possessive_ and …_rough_ and…

Oh _alright!_ I'll _stop!_

But now that there was _only me_ – trembling at the top of the stairs in my pink flannel pajamas _and him_ – stalking slowly up the same stairs with a hungry, angry, "_you will be mine_" sort of look to him….

You think that's hot? Seriously? Hot?

No! It was _terrifying!_

_I panicked! _

I would have run into my room and locked the door – if I thought I had any kind of hope that it might stop him from getting whatever it was he wanted -- but I knew that a locked door – especially MY locked door – _was nothing_ to Derek Venturi.

He'd gotten round that plenty of times in the past.

Hell, he could get past my locked door in mid-chase, soaking wet and holding a ready to burst water balloon in one hand. ( I'd not only _seen him_ _do it_, I'd had that balloon _splat against my face_ as I cowered in my closet!)

So I did the only thing that I COULD do in my desperate state, and I made the fastest sprint of my life over to my little stepsister's room. _"Marti? Marti? Are you awake?"_

"That depends…"

"Sally's gone."

"Okay. Then I'm awake."

I crawled into bed with her and snuggled up. "I was just thinking that it would be fun for us to have one of our sleepovers –like when I was high school."

"Um…"

"Okay so _goodnight_! " I curled against her and pretended to be asleep. I could feel her shrug and then snuggle back towards me.

There was one tense moment when the door opened and Derek's silhouette stood black and menacing against the hallway light.

He was tense , muscles taught and one fist clenched in his frustration with me.

He waited there a long time just looking into Marti's dark room – I don't even know if he could _see_ us because Marti slept under a mound of stuffed animals and pillows but I was afraid to move – or do _anything_ that might give away that I was still awake.

I just needed things to _calm down_. I needed _HIM_ to _calm down_ before things between us went a direction that felt more and more _completely out of control_ to me.

What was _my problem_? Yeah, yeah, you've seen him on the television playing hockey and whatnot and YOU wouldn't have any kind of problem at all with letting him do whatever he wanted to you …

_My_ "_problem"_ was…

I wanted _more_ than just the highly anticipate d release of three years, five months and four days of pent up sexual tension!

I wanted the _whole package_ – the sexy boy with the low slung jeans and the bedroom voice -- the sweet boy who protected his nerdy stepsister all through high school (_mostly _regardless of the denting his own cool reputation took_)_ – the tender boy who climbed inside blanket forts with his little sister to read her goodnight stories – the creative boy who pulled together an A+ short film out of a pile of rejected clips and failed scenes -- the loyal boy who would _stoop_ to compromise (even though he hated every last second of it) , _if _it meant preserving a new family he wasn't even that crazy about…

I wanted _ALL _these and not just a one night stand with _Hockey's Bad Boy_ – before he left me in the dust to go back to being the Cannuck's star player.

Was this too much to hope for?

I hoped not. (Besides, I did NOT want to sleep in a pile of stuffed animals for the next week and a half! I think my last thought before finally drifting off was that I could feel Sir Monks Allot's plastic banana nosing its way into my ass-crack. )

LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD

Since everyone _else_ had already changed plans to come early – my Uncle Robert and his family made the split second decision to get an earlier flight from Chicago. I loved Robert (his wife Sandra not so much) and I had always been good friends with their twins: Jessica and Dave. I was even excited to see Jess and Dave and to have them meet the Venturis. We hadn't seen each other since we were all in the 8th grade together, back when their family lived in Toronto.

"Oh God…My head is killing me. Is it too late to just call the whole thing off and check into a nice quiet psychiatric institution for the holidays?"

"Mom, I need you to try and keep it together here."

We were in the kitchen arranging plates of goat cheese and veggies – Because my mom was so desperate for my help… _I'd gotten my way with the salmon and the sesame puffs!_

Everything was set out on glass plates on the freshly pressed white table cloth buffet I had arranged.

Even though it was _absolutely gorgeous_…my mom was _still _skeptical!

"Casey, you don't think this is just a little fancy? I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable."

Before I could open my mouth Derek had sauntered in behind me holding a piece of the raw salmon in front of him like he'd found it trying to slither across the floor and attack someone. "Shouldn't this be…_cooked?_"

"Shouldn't you be _entertaining Vicki_?"

"Hey, I took her to a movie AND bought her lunch. I probably set her back in her therapy by like two years or something."

"Vicki is in therapy?"

Derek flung the piece of salmon into the kitchen sink and looked with disgust at the food my mom and I were trying to get ready. "Yeah – she says she's really made a lot of progress in her obsessive thoughts towards me," he offered nonchalantly.

His expression turned a little thoughtful, "Still, I saw her pocket the straw from my drink at the theatre. She also slipped my used ketchup packet into her purse after lunch."

My mom's forehead creased with worry. "Poor Vicki."

"You took her to lunch someplace that had ketchup packets?" I whisper screeched at him. "_Derek,_ Could you at least act _slightly_ worthy of my cousin's freakish obsession with you?"

Mom nodded in agreement with a frown on her face. "Great!" she grumbled at him. "Fiona will make sure I never hear the end of you taking Vicki out for _fast food_! Not after my sister had to pay for three months at that fancy mental hospital."

Derek looked at both of us like we were crazy.

But it didn't really matter what stupid Derek thought – I was feeling _very proud_ of myself.

Despite all the chaos caused by my mother's _inefficient_ methods and the rest of the family's utter _lack of taste_…

_I_ had managed to pull together an elegant and sophisticated family gathering!

_My Nana Susan was so impressed!_

There was the starched white tablecloth, the festive (yet refined!) arrangement of pale pink chrysanthemums, the orchestral Christmas music playing on cd, the graceful placement of ivory and silver candles flickering…_ahhh_ …it was sooooo beautiful …

you should _have seen_ it. ..

Oh, of course Derek ruined the whole thing.

He must have emptied an entire bottle of bourbon into the eggnog. And then (seemingly out of nowhere) a cooler of beer appeared near the kitchen island. Plus there were shots of cinnamon Schnapps and little espresso cups with Bailey's …oh and hot chocolate with Frangelico…

Soon my tasteful orchestral Christmas music was replaced with "Have a Rockin Reggae Holiday"

-- _something I know Derek owns! _

Uncle Robert and family ended up delayed by 2 hours so by the time George came back with them the candles had all burned down and Marti was making little candlewax hats for her fingers.

And …(I'm not above admitting it)…NO ONE liked the food. _Maybe I was adopted? Switched at birth? Fostered out like a princess in a fairy tale????_

(The result of not liking the food was that they all drank Derek's booze on empty stomachs. )

What could have been a sophisticated and classy affair became a horrible, _drunken farce_ of my vision for the evening…

A beer in one hand and a cocktail cherry hanging out of the corner of her mouth, Nana Susan started making candlewax hats with Marti.

The twins were slumped against each other on the couch, the empty bottle of Bailey's wedged between them. Vicki tried to play piano along to the reggae Christmas tunes (Lizzie soon joined her with a set of toy bongos).

Papa Fred snored loudly from Derek's chair as my mother and George dirty danced in front of him.

_Disgusting! _

Uncle Robert and Fiona got in a fight – _and I don't just mean "argument"_ – Harold and Edwin had to wrestle my uncle out onto the porch and away from the living room after Fiona threatened him with a broken lamp.

I think Lizzie got her mellowed back out with the last of the Schnapps.

And the _pièce de rèsistance_ to the evening?

Hmmm….That _would have_ to be when My Aunt Sandra (Robert's wife) _exposed her breasts_ to Derek in the laundry room…something I had the "pleasure" of walking in on!

"Der-rek!"

"What _in the hell_ is going on here?"

There was a loud suction noise as the two of them broke apart – (and _lucky_ for my stepbrother _that I know him as well as I do_ because I could i_mmediately_ discern that he had not been willingly involved in whatever had been the source of that suction.)

As a matter of fact Derek looked _a little frightened_ – a really sort of humorous fact – I started to giggle.

"Casandra! Your stepbrother was just …helping me with my…blouse…I think the buttonholes are a little _loose_ or something…"

However…Despite how my Aunt Sandra described events…It sure _as hell_ looked like she wasn't quite as busy attending to her "loose buttonhole" problem as she was to gripping Derek's shirt and trying to pry it _up and out of his hands_ as he held it down!

"Yeah. I think your aunt was trying to …" Derek finally wrenched his shirt free and took a sort of leap backwards to slam into the dryer. "I think she wanted to _borrow my shirt_…but …as _you know Casey_…I don't really _like to share_." He pierced me with a glare that I could tell was _supposed to mean something_.

I had no idea what – but _something_.

"Umm…"

Derek gave my aunt a mean smirk, "Listen, _Aunt Sandra_, I appreciate all you said about your…_fantasizing about me_ and wanting to …"see just how _bad _I can be f_irsthand_"…and everything…but I really need some quality time here with my stepsister." He dragged me against his chest and circled one arm around my waist.

"_Der-rek!" _

My aunt gave me an icy look that absolutely shocked me!

(This same woman had taken her daughter and I out to get ice cream when we were Marti's age – she had made the twins and I giant cookie birthday cakes when we turned eleven – she had helped my mom sew the dress I wore to 6th grade graduation! )

And now she was looking at me like I was her…_rival_…_for Derek_!

"_I see…"_ she now drawled at me and looked me up and down.

It was a drunken "size you up" look that Derek's high school bimbos always did before they figured out I wasn't really competition -- that I was nothing but the loser sister.

"Enjoy your 'quality time' Cassandra," Aunt Sandra slurred. "But, frankly, _sweetie_, I think you're a little _out of your league_ with this one… Don't you?" My aunt stepped daintily out the door then and it snicked neatly closed behind her.

Derek and I stood in the darkness, still pressed together and breathing heavily from the scene with my aunt. _At least I was breathing heavily! What the hell?!_

Derek finally cleared his throat, "That is one drunk, horny and pissed off woman."

I turned to look into his eyes – I could just make them out in the darkness.

"But what she said is right. Isn't it? I AM out of my league with you. Girls throw themselves at you all the time – you're a _big star_ now" ( I was trying really hard not to sound bitter but what was the use? Derek could see through everything I did and said just like I could with him!) "I don't think we're in the same world any more Derek…"

"Yeah…" Derek coughed out. And I thought I sounded bitter! As usual, Derek had me beat by a thousand percent!

"How is that for some _consequences,_ Case?" His voice cracked a little and I remembered earlier that day and the strange look he had given me.

I leaned my forehead against his and we just breathed together in the dark.

"You could ask me to come with you…" I offered, my voice so low and soft that he didn't have to acknowledge it if he didn't want me to come with him. ..And, if he wanted to spare my feelings. ..

"I don't want you there." _Well I guess sparing my feelings wasn't a priority for him…. it didn't seem like he was worried about that…._

"Oh." I tried to pull away but he held me tight to him and I could _never resist him_ – not even if _I could_ break free of his arms.

"I hate who I am there, Casey. I hate the bad boy thing. I hate the fawning and the fancy crap. I don't want _you_ to see _me _there – _being that_." His voice was raspy, panting… desolate.

My voice was _gone,_ thanks to the tears that clogged my throat and filled my eyes. I let him pull me closer.

I let him do what he needed to do. His hands were hot and moving over my body, touching my skin, tugging at my clothes…

He didn't kiss me or fully undress me… "_Casey, Casey…"_

He just kept touching me and panting into my ear, saying my name over and over in that same rough and hopeless way.

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7

LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD

So …early the next morning…

What?

_Anyway_… so early the next morning….

…_**What?!**_

…Oh…

… _Fine_. ..

We were in the laundry room. ..

Derek's hands roaming under my clothes and across my skin. "Casey…Casey…." His mouth pressed hotly into my neck. Fingers crawling under the waist band of my pants.

His hair smelled of the outdoors -- clean wind, pine, wet snow – his skin was smooth and warm. He tasted like that damn cinnamon Schnapps but also the way I remembered from five months ago – like honey butter, whipped cream, melting chocolate – everything that is too good to resist but so bad for you that you know you should try... to resist I mean…

I don't know what I had been thinking earlier, trying to hold him off the way I had been.

There wasn't any fighting this…all those years of opposing each other had barely kept the heat between us in check. But, after the way we had parted, the weak moments since our reunion, the half-confessions, the loss of any "_insignificant_-others" to stand in our way…it was hopeless – impossible—to even try. And _why_ were we still trying, anyway?

After all that had happened and not happened --It didn't even make sense to be apart any longer.

Derek held me in place against the bulge in his jeans. He rubbed himself against me and ignored my sporadic efforts to push him off. When I tried to protest – it was the laundry room for Pete's sake – there isn't even a lock on the door! -- he swallowed my words. His tongue in my mouth; I could barely _breath_ around all his need.

When he could tell I was gasping for air and dizzy he finally let me _say something_ --

I didn't waste the opportunity, "Let's go upstairs."

"Yeah."

Back in the living room – _Ugh!_ My mother's family "meet and greet" holiday party had disintegrated into something from a horror film.

I didn't even _want_ to know what that puddle in front of the couch was, or how a piece of salmon sashimi had come to be smeared across the television screen.

I did catch a glimpse of Vicky kissing something a page of Derek's baby scrapbook before Lizzie could pry it away from her.

My aunt Sandra appeared to be giving a horrified George a lap dance.

My mom was obviously directing Uncle Robert to take his family to the hotel we had reserved for them.

Derek, chuckling, drew my face into his chest so I wouldn't have to see any more of this awfulness. He led me up to my room and locked the door behind us.

There was only the dim light from the window. That was good. I was doing a terrible job of trying not to tremble, (I doubted that I knew how to do _anything_ that Derek hadn't already had done to him _at least_ a _thousand times_ already –and by girls far more expert than I was. And I wasn't sure what he wanted _to do to me_?! Was I really ready for something like this? So far, I'd only had cautious, missionary position sex (and not much of it) . Derek had probably graduated to circus quality stunts!

The trembling was worry, fear… the climactic image of my step-brother naked and in front of me – _whoa!_ – and now – (most embarrassingly) -- I was trembling with _anticipation_.

His body was _perfect_. All muscle, tall, angular, – Derek had always been this undeniably enticing mix of hard and soft – the raised white skate blade scar on his bicep vs. the smattering of freckles on his chest -- the lanky boyish frame with the ropey firm muscle – the guarded, aggressive look to his eyes set against the long curling girlish lashes and full pretty mouth…

But I didn't need to worry: Derek was so romantic and gentle – he wasn't at all the boy I had heard on the other side of my wall during our high school years.

I think he kissed every inch of my body after he undressed me – he'd batted my hands away whenever I tried to help. His mouth was so warm and wet and teasing against my skin that it made me crazy with wanting him. I was panting and pulling at him.

Even when he was –_finally!_ – inside of me, he still wasn't close enough.

I had worried he only wanted my body – that the act we had started before he left, just _needed to be finished_ for the both of us to move on. But that wasn't it. I could tell from the moment he entered me – _I know his face and all his expressions so well_ – that this was just as monumental to him as it was to me…raw and innocent.

"How did this get so screwed up, Case?"

Everything in the house beneath us had drifted to silence at some point during the "finishing of the act" happening in my room.

Actually, (and to begrudgingly give Derek his due), there were _three _different instances of "finishing the act" that could account for the time lapse.

We were both naked and exhausted (but in a really nicely satisfied way – which was a completely new experience for the two of us. _Satisfied _was something that neither of us had yet to feel in all the nearly four years of being thrown together in almost every imaginable situation -- and a few pretty unimaginable situations when taking the outside world (ie: family and friends) into consideration.

But all this taken into account… No, I can't say that I EVER experienced the kind of satisfaction I was feeling in _that _moment.

"Well…" I was pondering his question, rolling it around in my mind like it was the essay portion of my sociology final. "I think I would have to begin my answer by detailing several events that occurred before the wedding…there were most definitely sparks of this when we planned to break our parents up so that we wouldn't become step-siblings…"

Derek rolled back on top of me and I gasped…_surely he didn't?_… But he was only pinning me underneath him to better lock his hand under my jaw.

"I forgot what I was dealing with here…" he muttered.

"_I meant_…how can we get things _un_screwed up enough for me to _be with_ you?"

"Be with me?" I tried to say but because of his hand locking my teeth together it came out more like "eee wif me?"

Derek smirked then and released me. He plopped back beside me to stare at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head.

It was classic Derek –scheming posture and it made me nervous – probably a latent symptom of Post traumatic pranking. "_What_ are you thinking?"

I'd had a lot of experience with this Derek-scheming look . It usually morphed into a suspicious and narrow-eyed "What's it to ya?" – and then some sort of threat was issued against my ratting him out.

I'd had _even more_ experience with the Derek-scheming look morphing into an evil, smirking "You'll find out soon enough" – meaning soon my clothes would all be missing or my homework would be mysteriously dipped in honey or my cell phone was waiting for me in the mayonnaise.

But this was the first time I'd EVER seen Derek-scheming turn into something soft and protective. He curled me into his side, "I'll take care of it. Don't worry. Let's go to sleep."

Oh okay. That made sense.

_No. Not "really"! _

Of course not!

When had Derek _ever _"taken care of " anything in a way that would also allow me _not to worry_?!

_NEVER_ – that's when!

LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD

The next day it became clear that my mother had completely returned to the original set of plans I'd drawn up for her reunion.

I think she was hung-over (Well, naturally they were all absolutely and thoroughly hung-over ) but I think my mother _in particular_ was so hung-over that she was clinging to my plans like a like a drowning person.

"Skating? You expect all of us to go skating?" Derek was standing over me, fully dressed, with wet snow dripping off of his hair and onto my face. Somehow it had become morning and I hadn't been the first one in the house up and ready. _Ah – because last night was just so…_

More wet snow dripped from Derek's hair onto the bed.

"Skating?" I croaked.

Derek nodded at me sardonically, "Is it all coming back to you now?"

And he looked really pissed off about something…_and …totally hot in that tight thermal t-shirt and those jeans with the holes in the knees!_

I stretched under the sheet – my whole body felt sore and …_used_…but in a really, really good way. I guess I was…relaxed. It had been so long that I didn't have the word for it at first.

Like he could read my mind – and if anyone could then it would be him – my conceited step-brother smirked at me so we _both_ knew that he was giving himself a mental pat on the back for having done such a great job the night before.

"Feeling a little proud of yourself, Derek?" I grumbled at him.

I could follow the pale line of hair leading under his naval and into the waffle-knit waistband of his long-underwear. _Damn._ Did he have to make everything look _so good_?

Another shower of slush sprayed me. This one was more deliberate than the last.

"Der-rek!"

"You might want to wipe that "_do me again Derek_" look off your face and get some clothes on before the entire family…"

But he couldn't really finish that sentence because – the entire family managed to file into my room looking like reject models from an L.L. Bean catalogue: Marti wearing a long underwear with a tiara and ballet tutu _(cracked-out Sasha Cohen?)_ , Edwin in a beige ski-mask and puffer jacket _(Mr. Clean as a super-villain?)_, my mom with a flannel nightgown tucked into her jeans –bags under her eyes and a greenish shine to her skin _(Mrs. Claus after an all-night eggnog party with the elves?)_, George with an even _greener_ shine, three sweatshirts and a pink -- _mine?_ -- rain-slicker _(homeless person?)_. Finally, and -- _most frighteningly of all_ -- Lizzie was wearing _all of_ Derek's old high-school J.S. Thompson High School varsity hockey gear _(Derek?!)._

I drew the sheet up to my chin and tried not to look…naked...

"Umm…Hi everybody….what are you all doing in here….dressed…like…that?"

My mom was shaking the contents of an aspirin bottle into her mouth so it was difficult to make out her answer "Skating and riffle miffle miff." She handed the aspirin bottle to George and started gulping coffee from her '_I am a sensitive and powerful woman_' mug (it was the biggest one in the house and usually functioned as a cereal bowl) .

Derek waved the lavender pages of my reunion plans and schedule in front of my face. "You signed us up for the …" his face scrunched as he read my curly script "… "Santa Fun Bus' and a" … (gagging noise) "…magical morning of ice-skating and hot cocoa set on a picturesque Canadian woodland pond." Derek dropped the pages onto my stomach in disgust and I glared at him.

If I wasn't so busy holding up this damn sheet he wouldn't be standing over me so superior right now…_Oh…he'd be shedding that clingy long underwear shirt and letting me lick that snow off his…_

Focus Casey! -- Entire Family standing in room and waiting for direction.

"It'll be fun?"

They all stared at me, dumb, angry, afraid – (the three major ingredients to an angry mob).

Derek sighed – but he was secretly laughing at me –_of course I could tell: his eyes, the set of his shoulders_ …

"Well it won't be fun but it WILL be HERE in less than fifteen minutes so LET'S GET CRACKING PEOPLE!" He ushered them all out of my room and down the stairs. (No one ever thought to turn angry mob on Derek).

I would have been resentful if he hadn't poked his head back into my doorway to smile –_slowly, sexily_ – at me.

_Damn! _

LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD

"Santa's Fun Bus" was mercifully more of a van than an actual bus – so it was a comfortable 90 minute ride through the woods to the little cabin we would have access to while we skated.

There was a quick stop to rent skates for the out-of-towners – the van took us in shifts – so the McDonald-Venturis were alone on the serpentine frozen pond for some time before everyone else joined us.

The pond was actually three connected frozen mini ponds: all jagged edged with overhanging frozen branches and tall banks of snow cleared to make skating surfaces. It was beautiful.

Too bad most of the family couldn't appreciate it thanks to the previous night.

While we waited for the relatives to arrive, Lizzie took the time to impress Derek with her various hockey moves. She had completely dropped soccer in the last year to devote herself to girls' hockey. And she was good.

I was beaming proudly at her while Edwin stood by me scowling (not easy to do in a ski mask).

"Do you know how bad it sucks to be Derek Venturi's less coordinated and less attractive younger brother? Now, with Lizzie being nearly as big a hockey star as Derek, I seem like some sort of family mutant."

It was hard to disagree with someone sulking in a puffer coat and beige ski mask.

"Your not a mutant, Edwin." ( It was the Christian thing to say.)

Just then Marti hit him in the back of the head with a poorly formed (read: wet and slushy) snowball. Water dripped off the skin colored top of his head and into his eye-holes.

The cabin itself was slightly less impressive than "Santa's fun van." With a little wood-burning stove in one corner, braided rag rugs, Styrofoam cups and an industrial sized, self-serving thermos of watery cocoa, it was clearly just a place to warm up. Obviously "Santa's fun helpers" wanted to make sure nobody got hypothermia and decided to sue before the fun bus could haul our asses out of the "picturesque Canadian woods" and back to wherever we came from.

When the others got there it was fairly cheerless display of hung-over people skating listlessly in circles, desperately hoping not to vomit or freeze to death before they could return to the warmth of their hotel rooms.

Uncle Robert and Aunt Sandra had the saddest marriage I had ever witnessed. The light of day and sobriety had done nothing to make it seem like they were _at all_ aware they had arrived at this reunion _together_.

Uncle Robert had all his attention on his Blackberry as he shuffled along the ice and Aunt Sandra was alternately trying to skate seductively in front of Derek (who ignored her) and George (who would stop dead in his tracks and switch directions whenever she approached him) .

Finally (and pathetically) my aunt turned her creepy attention to Edwin who seemed delighted that someone, _anyone_, had noticed him-- I tried to be happy for him.

"You think the kid will get laid finally?"

"Gross Derek."

He would cross in front of me every so often to try out all his new penalty moves – knocking me to the ice, cross cutting, elbowing. It was a ploy to touch me, of course. His inappropriate methods of "helping me up" proved this, so I didn't really get mad.

"Is this the way you always help up your fellow skaters after you charge at them?" He'd managed to slide one hand up the side of my jacket and was running his thumb over my breast.

"Hah. I never help anyone up."

"And you shake off your own teammates when they…" I was trying to pry his hand out from under my turtleneck but he wasn't letting me. "Arg. ..When they try to help you…"

"I don't want their help," he yanked me up against him and started skating me backwards at a pace that he knew I couldn't keep up. I had to cling to him to keep from crashing to the ice.

If he thought that would shut me up then he was wrong. "You know Derek, there were times…that I watched you…when…"

It was kind of terrifying to be at his mercy like this as he flew us over the ice and around all the curves and narrow twists of the pond. "Can you slow down?!"

He finally did on the edge of the farthest ice pool. "Jeez Casey – I had hold of you the whole time – I do this for a living you know…"

The reminder of his "living" sobered things between us. He let go of me.

"There were times when you watched me …" he prompted me again.

I didn't want to get into it. Everything had been so sweet the night before – we were happy and I didn't want to ruin that. "Nothing."

"Tell me." He already looked guilty. He knew what I was going to say.

I'd seen him shrug off help and skate carelessly – and we both knew how unhappy he was. I mean when you thought about it… the things he did off the ice… the things he did ON the ice. He didn't care if he got beaten up and he didn't care if he got hurt.

But was he actually _trying to get hurt_ some of the time?

Oh I didn't think he was suicidal or anything! Still… just _the right_ injury…a knee getting torn bad enough or a leg break…an eye injury… would end his career (or dampen it enough that he would no longer be so valuable to the Cannucks).

"You watched me …" he prompted me again. But, he didn't wait for my answer this time, "You thought I might not mind getting hurt. Sitting out for a while?"

He glared at the ice like he was remembering – maybe thinking of all the instances of his getting knocked around, taking risks, seeming almost disappointed when fights didn't escalate, when wild skating feats went off without a hitch. "Sitting out for good?"

I still didn't answer and his guilt slowly morphed into something darker.

"Just now. " He gestured in back of me to mean the jagged pond edge we had just careened down. "Did you think I was being careless like that – _with you_? You think…what? I wouldn't _take care_ of you – be different with you – if I could…"

I couldn't follow his train of thought anymore. He couldn't follow himself!

"Just forget it," he muttered and glided away from me.

I didn't even try to catch up to him. He was too strong and too good at this. It took him like two strides to go sailing back into the next rounded pond area, leaving me stranded. I sighed and made my way slowly back.

Derek had smoothly entered into a little hockey game between Marti, Lizzie and my cousins Jessica and Dave.

He followed expertly behind Marti helping her swing her little hockey stick and keeping her upright when she stumbled. He was incredibly graceful on the ice. Oh hell, he was pretty graceful doing any sport. But, something about being on the ice highlighted Derek's agility, speed and reflex like he was born to be there. So, of course, my cousin Jessica couldn't take her eyes off of him.

Marti got the puck right by her.

"Yay, Smerek!"

Derek picked his little sister up and swung her around.

I wasn't the only one watching them. George was across from me watching them too – he was standing with my mom and they were looking on with faces shining with pride and happiness.

I wanted Derek to turn around and see them – for once it was his being a big brother that made them proud and not just the hockey.

Why couldn't they be like this all the time with him?

It was always the things that Derek did _wrong_ that got our parents' attention and never the _good things_ about him. Like how caring and sweet he could be and how great he was with kids or how creative he could be. It was always only the hockey.

As exhilarating as it was to watch him play hockey, and as naturally good as he was at the sport, I wondered what his life would be if he hadn't been so talented. Maybe not a _terrible _hockey player but just… an _average _one.

There would have been no contract right out of high school.

No penthouse, no sports car, no maid …he wouldn't have lasted with Sally.

He wouldn't have been the great Derek Venturi of our high school years – I know a good portion of those girls he'd been with were only with him for _that_.

Lizzie would be the family hockey star.

Edwin wouldn't be a mutant…

"You're a lucky girl, Marti!" George yelled out to where she still smiled adoringly at her big brother. "The star of The Cannucks just gave you a private lesson in winning a hockey game!"

Derek's eyes met mine in that instant and he caught my wince. He set Marti back down and gave his dad a half-hearted smile.

"That wasn't the star of The Cannucks, George." The words were harsh out of my mouth. I didn't exactly _intend_ to sound this way. _I intended_ to say it teasingly and light. I'd never been good at that though. Sweet-talk was Derek's specialty, not mine.

"That was her _big brother_ helping her, not some _hockey star_." The last words came out in a scoff.

George looked confused but then smiled sort of offhandedly, "Oh…yeah…that too."

Derek smirked at me and glided over with Marti's little hockey stick.

I thought we were going to skate together again so I tried to match his stride – _what was I thinking?_

He hooked me with Marti's stick and I crashed face-first off the pond edge and into a pile of brown slushy snow.

"_Der-rek!"_

- TBC –

LWD –LWD – LWD – LWD- LWD

_I think I have one chapter – maybe two left. _

_Thank you, thank you for reading and…_

_Happy belated birthday to my sister – it means so much to me that you are always willing to read the stuff I write. I love you!_

 _pheobe_


	8. Chapter 8

Reunion chapter 8

.

Did I space off for a moment there? With a ridiculously dreamy expression even?

Well it _was_ like a dream to me – those several days of my mother's terrible McDonald family reunion. I mean, (and just to recap because at this point, we are far, far away from where I began telling you this story…)

I mean…

I had partial sex with my arrogant, obnoxious step-brother the night before we both left town to start our new lives.

Then he ignored me for five and half months during which I became University of Toronto's most successful and extra-curricularily prolific student.

_Meanwhile,_ the stepbrother became hockey's most notorious bad-boy and_, shock of all shocks_ _(not really)_, an even _badder_ boy in his serious live-in relationship. (A relationship which basically unraveled after one nightmarish party at Ralph's.)

Then the McDonald family reunion…erupted… and my superstar, super-hot stepbro was nearly molested by my Uncle Robert's very miserable and very horny wife…

But, finally _(finally, finally, finally)_, Derek and I completed the act that had started all of this mess between us in the first place..

and it was…_oh my God_…

Well, you've seen him, right?

On the television? Playing hockey?

Throwing his gloves and to the ground, eyes blazing as he charges across the ice to take a vicious swing at another player, helmet knocked loose and long boyish curls clinging and sweaty against his neck and forehead.

Or being interviewed?

His cocky smirk when asked about his bad boy reputation. The languid slouch, one arm spread against the back of the chair, shirt unbuttoned (maybe a little farther than respectable, maybe like he just _doesn't care_ about _being respectable_), long fingers drumming impatiently against one muscled thigh while he raises an eyebrow over those slanting bedroom eyes with their impossibly long curling lashes. The semi-scratch of his voice…the c_onceit_..the unbelievable, mindboggling_ conceit_ obvious in every answer…

Well, you can just _imagine_…

_Wait_ – you haven't _actually_ imagined it, have you?

(Don't answer that. )

Anyway…

I was completely in love.

And _I thought_ that he was too.

There were several days of near honeymoon happiness between the two of us…

I had scheduled so many activities into the days (finding that not everyone is able to keep up with a Casey McDonald 'spirit of the holiday' schedule and still maintain a …well…'spirit of the holiday') but -- the point being -- my family was so _busy _and _exhausted_ that there were no repeats of the fighting and seducing that plagued our first night together.

AND (even better) there wasn't a lot of attention given to what Derek and I were doing in the linen closet near the hotel conference room…

or in the public bathroom of the mall…

or in the parking lot of the Italian restaurant…

or in the unoccupied stairwell of the Aquarium…

or behind the empty shed at the Reindeer ranch…

or in the thatch of forest near the cross-country ski trails…

or behind the alley dumpster during the Christmas Parade…

or in the darkened kitchen of the nursing home…

What?

Oh! See I thought it would be a wonderful gesture of "Holiday Giving" if we all went to the nursing home for caroling!

It was something I scheduled with one of my very favorite high school groups, the JS Thompson Glee Club – an organization I was _shocked_ to find neither Edwin _nor_ Lizzie were members of (until I called and had them enrolled)!

Oh!

You meant_: In the kitchen_?

Well, as I KNOW that I have already alluded to in this story…

Derek is an insatiable pig!

_Yeesh!_ Haven't you been paying attention???

"Whose name did you draw Step-Nana Susan?" Marti was bouncing on her toes and trying to see into a gift bag as my grandmother placed it under the tree.

"Marti, sweetie, I told you to just call me "Nana" and not "step-Nana"…and you know that I can't tell you who's name I drew for the gift exchange…"

"Because I really, really like those slippers…_if _they're for me…." Marti interrupted.

"They aren't."

I had to break in at this point, because there was _absolutely no cheating_ when it came to the secret Santa gift exchange! So, Marti quizzing everyone in a process-of-elimination strategy was definitely cheating. "Marti!" (I felt the look I gave her adequately re-convered the rules for the Secret Santa gift exchange, which we had already covered at least four times a day for the last three days).

"Awww…come on Casey…"

"Yeah. Let the kid have some hints…"

Derek was bounding down the stairs in that deceptively ungainly way of his.

Right before he got to the bottom steps he vaulted over the railing and landed with all the agility of a cat.

It was part of what gave him so much of an edge when he played hockey – he could be all loose-limbed "puppy-on-skates" one minute and then the very _definition_ of _precision_ and _power_ the next.

It was…kind of _breathtaking_ …now that I wasn't hating his guts anymore.

Derek strolled up behind me – way too close – his breath grazing the back of my neck -- and smiled down at his little sister.

"Anyway, Marti, you know that Santa is going to bring you way more gifts than whatever lame thing you get in Casey's even lamer gift exchange." He swooped down to sling the little girl over his shoulder.

"Put me down, Smerek!"

My Nana Susan winced at Marti's shrieks. "Gosh it gets really loud in this house doesn't it?"

Ahhh… I remember the pre-Venturi visits that Nana Susan used to make to our condo in Toronto – my mom would play soft classical music as a background while she worked quietly with her sketches and swatches. Lizzie was usually out in the back yard playing a pick-up game of soccer with Papa Fred while I read a book. _Siiiiigh_… it really _had_ been so much more….

"Watch out below!"

Edwin dumped a basket of his dirty clothes over the top railing and onto the wooden floor.

With a loud smack the entire downstairs was filled with the aroma of swamp water and rotting food particular to my youngest stepbrother.

One of his stained socks clung to Nana Susan's neat, graying bobbed hair.

"Oh my!"

My mom appeared, morning coffee mug in hand, from the kitchen with Aunt Fiona and Vicky. "Edwin, what did I tell you about dive-bombing your laundry basket?"

"Sorry Nora!"

Today was the grand finale of the McDonald Family Reunion – Christmas Eve gift exchange! Silly me for thinking that and a home cooked dinner would be enough to keep these horrible people occupied. – Whoops! _Did I just say that out loud?_

But things had obviously reached the point where we were _all_ looking forward to the reunion's conclusion.

Aunt Sandra sauntered around my mother holding her own cup of coffee – her shimmering red negligee hiding NOTHING, I might add. She and Uncle Robert and their twins, Jessica and Dave, were all staying in a nearby hotel.

Apparently, the rest of the family found _plenty _of time to shower and dress before coming to our house each day to group-up for activities. But my Aunt Sandra claimed she "feels more comfortable just hanging out in her pj's _(translate: flimsy silk and satin ensemble which could best be described as a 'Whore of the Old West' costume)_ rather than hold you all up in the mornings" -- Disgusting!

Derek playfully flipped Marti onto the couch before narrowing his eyes at my aunt's creepy _walk of seduction_ –

"Were you looking for Edwin? 'Cause you probably missed him. I'm pretty sure he has a standing Dungeons and Dragons game lined up for Saturday mornings."

Aunt Sandra's face pinched like she just bit her own tongue, "No problem, Derek. Actually, I was just thinking _how sweet_ you look when you play with your _sisters_. Will you be flipping _Casey_ onto her back _next_?"

_Yikes! _

"Ummm…you were going to…ummmm… run to _the grocery_ with me this morning, weren't you Derek?" I hastily interrupted.

(Of course there was nothing I needed from the grocery on Christmas Eve – _I would never be that ill-prepared_! However, Something else I did _not_ need was to deflect snarky comments between my aunt and my stepbrother first thing in the morning!)

This was the last day of my perfectly scheduled, although somewhat _less_ perfectly scripted, McDonald Family Reunion.

I wasn't _about_ to let Derek antagonize my aunt into revealing the relationship she knew existed between us.

I grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the house before he could retaliate against the "sister" card that my aunt had provoked him with – I was doing her a favor actually!

Derek had NEVER tolerated _anyone _saying "your sister" to _him_ about _me_.

He'd shoved Sam against a locker our sophomore year for making the slip!

He'd even punched Ralph during a drunken after-prom party Junior year, when Ralph told him, "That was pretty cool that you made sure _your sister_ got to come."

His face had gotten red and he'd growled out, "She isn't my sister," before taking a hard swing at his friend.

Let me tell you, after almost four years, _nobody_ made _that_ mistake anymore!

And I'm sure they all thought – _had thought_ – that he _couldn't stand_ the reference because he _couldn't stand_ me – a keener preppy princess – being connected in any familial way to him – the great Derek Venturi.

Ha! _If they only knew!_

I might be oblivious about a lot of things, but I was _not oblivious_ to the _proprietary_ way – the '_to this I am entitled'_ way – the '_this is part of my dominion'_ way -- he treated me from the first moment I moved into his house!

He was always _watching, asserting_ and _controlling _…criticizing my clothing, acting like he had approval with my friendships, manipulating which clubs or …even gym activities… in which I could be involved, tracking me down at parties to remind me of a curfew he had no intention of keeping himself, dictating the nights I could drive and checking the mileage to see where I went…

If that behavior wasn't _brotherly_ – if the mere suggestion that it _could be_ brotherly was so _repulsive_ to him – then what the hell _was it?_

All the time we were growing up, I wouldn't have _dared_ to consider the question, let alone the answer.

And, with the way Derek reacted, no one else was going to consider it either!

At any rate…Aunt Sandra didn't know the beast she was poking at, not if she thought she could snark about the family connection Derek and I were forced to share.

The grocery was packed – Derek and I shuffled up and down the isles looking for the hard-to-find items I had pretended to need in order to get us out of the house.

And people are so friendly at Christmas time!

Gosh, surprisingly friendly really…hmmmmm….

For example, a really nice woman let Derek take her cart just as we arrived.

Then a teenage boy, working in the bakery isle, had asked Derek to sign his shirt and given us a free doughnuts.

Then two girls about my age asked to have their picture taken with him and told us – well mostly Derek – to "have a nice holiday". . .

But like I was saying…the grocery was packed.

And I guess that caused me to think about (and share with Derek of course) how it is actually a shameful commentary on society that this many people had put off getting their groceries until the absolute last moments before Christmas…

Now two guys about my age wanted to tell Derek that "Hey, you rule, Dude!" and high five him.

But back to what I'd been saying …I'd had everything bought, chopped and ready for the oven since yesterday because I had used my super-organized "Casey Holiday Meal Preparedness Plan." It is actually an excellent and . . .

"Oh no thanks…we don't need any help. We're finding everything okay." I had to snap my fingers twice in front of the woman's face before she would drag her eyes off of Derek's body and notice me.

_You know, now that I think of it…when she asked if there was anything we wanted , she probably didn't mean "assistance finding the feta stuffed Greek olives" I was searching for._ I'm not sure that question had been directed at _both of us_ anyway…

So AS I WAS SAYING… "The Casey Holiday Meal Preparedness Plan"…All my mom had to do was to follow the cooking chart I had made for her and taped to the refrigerator. Preparation! If more people just took the time and effort…

_Oh for crying out loud!_

"Can everyone PLEASE stop ogling my stepbrother for one freakin second so I can find the damn olives!"

I turned to look at Derek, _completely exasperated_, before I realized that …this _one time_ out of maybe a gazillion times in the last four years that I had been _completely exasperated_…it wasn't his fault!

As a matter of fact, Derek had been doing nothing but slouching against the cart munching a doughnut.

(So, alright…the way he leaned against the cart made his snug t-shirt ride up just enough to flash the defined ab muscles that showed above his jeans…_and his butt_ in those jeans…well even if you _never _watched a game of pro-hockey in _your life_ it was …well… pretty _obvious_ that he played _some kind of sport_ – played it _a lot_.)

(And, then there was _the doughnut_ and Derek's love of anything with a fat and sugar content far exceeding its nutritional value…it really was sort of indecent to see a guy as hot as my stepbrother lick doughnut glaze from his lips and fingers between bites of something he was clearly enjoying with so much _unabashed intensity_ as that doughnut…)

_Ahem. _

But, to tell the truth, (a truth that, at one time, I would have rather choked to death than utter), Derek had _always_ been this hot.

Girls had _always _checked him out – even when he was with me – despite the fact they had no idea that I was in the _seemingly _unthreatening role of "stepsister" rather than "girlfriend".

But it had always been just that…some "checking out" and maybe an occasional…well, slightly more than occasional…attempt to "make contact" – like girls pretending to bump into him, or girls asking him if they "knew each other from somewhere" or …girls brushing by flirtatiously while stuffing a napkin with a telephone number written on it into his pocket (can you believe the nerve??? _Unbelievable!!!_).

But this…open…_fawning_…of not just women but …boys …and men… and housewives…and _everyone_…

"Let's get out of here," I mumbled towards him. I was trying to act like I didn't notice the peeking and staring at us from all over the store.

"Uh, Spacey? We haven't actually bought anything yet," Derek said loudly (at least it seemed loud to me).

"It doesn't matter." It was uncomfortably apparent that everyone staring and peeking was now trying to add _eavesdropping_ as an accompaniment to their covert spying of us.

I felt myself get hot and red. "Can we please just go? _Now_?"

Some part of my embarrassment must have registered for him, because he suddenly became as aware as I was of the attention we…_he_…was and _had been_ getting. "Oh," he looked down at me and shrugged -- a little bit apologetic, "People sometimes act like they own a piece of me now…" his voice was, thankfully, low and close to my ear. "I got used to it."

"Well, " I wasn't sure how to express the discomfort I was feeling.

I just knew that I had wanted to get out of the house and away from my family to be with _him_… _only him_…not the rest of these people who were trying to mooch in on our grocery store trip.

"I don't want anyone owning _me_…" I managed.

"I don't want that either." There was that long-familiar expression of ownership again – the way his forehead creased a little and he sucked in a breath and locked his jaw – " I _definitely_ don't want that."

We held hands on the way out of the store – like a real couple. But it was strange.

I'd been so wrapped up in the bustle of the family reunion and the thrill and relief of our secret love-making, that I hadn't had time to absorb the reality of a relationship with Derek – his celebrity, the fact of his life on the opposite coast, the fact of an apartment on that coast he was still sharing with Sally, the fact of how completely incongruous our lives were and how impossible it seemed that this – _us _– could ever, ever, _ever_ work out.

Let me tell you, about the _last_ thing I needed to hear was:

"Hey! You're Derek Venturi aren't you?! " The man coming towards us was stocky, bald and aggressively thrusting his hand forward for Derek to shake. "Wow, I almost didn't recognize you – you look so different…so much, more…" _I can't believe people! Couldn't they tell the mood I was in? Couldn't they see the grim line of Derek's mouth or the anxious way he was watching me and not the parking lot in front of us? _

I knew Derek had to have been reflecting on all the same things that I had been reflecting on…and more…because of the death grip he had on my hand. He was probably worried I was about to make a run for it – (because it was something I would do) …just bolt away from the curious gawkers and the _pain_ that came from knowing that the last few days of giddy romantic bliss were –most likely – an anomaly in what would undoubtedly be the rest of my arranged, stale, frigid life.

_I felt like I was about to cry for Godsakes! _

"That's enough!" I shrilled, turning on Derek's startled looking fan.

"Yes, he's Derek Venturi. _Yes,_ he is REALLY the "Bad Boy of Hockey" -- walking _right here_ outside of _you_r grocery store! And _YES_, he appreciates that you think he is "cool" or "scored the winning goal" in whatever game you are remembering right at this moment but…." And here _(humiliatingly)_ my voice started to tremble and _(even more humiliatingly)_ my eyes started to leak indignant tears,

"…but _I _had him _first_, okay? You don't know all the …_suffering_ that I have …endured…

_(and now MOST humiliatingly I was beginning to sound like a Jane Austen character)_

"… to just… BE with him, holding his hand. SO _PLEASE_…can I just BE here _WITH HIM_. AND _ONLY_ HIM… "

The stocky man sort of gaped at us in this, (_oddly familiar?_ ), wide-eyed _"Dude, I don't get it?"_ kind of way. Then he turned towards Derek, "Ummm..?"

Derek was a little red and snorting in an obvious attack of laughter at my expense – _(because he is a total ass! Can't he see how sincerely distressed and, although somewhat melodramatically, how I was trying to make a stand for the sanctity of our relationship?) _

"She's been through a lot lately Mr. Papadopolus. Maybe Ralph told you how we've been trying to give the asylum an occasional break and gradually introduce Casey back into society? It's been a slow process. "

The stocky man _(Ralph's dad)_ looked back at me, the corners of his eyes turned down in sympathy, "Well, he'd mentioned before that your stepsister suffered from mental problems, but I hadn't realized… " Mr. Papadopolus made a compassionate clucking sound and patted me on the head before turning back to Derek.

"Well, _you_ look so much more grown-up than I remembered you, kid. Heck, it seems like just yesterday that I used to take you and little Sammy and Ralph out to pee-wee hockey… "

I ripped my hand from Derek's, "I'll wait for you in the car…" I hissed at him.

I tried to be more polite and smiled back towards Ralph's dad, "and it was nice to…" but Mr. Papadopolus was leaning away from me in fear – like the polite version of me was somehow more disturbing than the ranting or irate versions.

He completely ignored what I was saying and turned to Derek instead, "It seems like her meds are kicking in…did you need to …feed her…or…restrain…"

"Ugh! Never mind!" I rolled my eyes as Derek tried to pass his laughter spasms off as a sudden need to shake snow from the bottom of his shoes.

"I'm waiting in the car…" I grumbled and stomped off.

From the car I could see Derek talking seriously to Ralph's dad. They were talking hockey, _of course_.

The reason Mr. Papadopolus hadn't recognized Derek right away was because he traveled almost every week of hockey season as a pro-referee for the NHL.

When he _was _in town, Derek and his friends used to sit, enthralled, while he recounted for them all the behind-the-scene action of the game: the things the players taunted each other with, the force and speed with which the puck hit the ice, or whether the penalties he'd called has seemed intentional or just sloppy mistakes. Thrilling stuff huh?

Like…right now Derek was leaning in and muttering something that had a lot of frightening gestures: high-sticking, (Derek raised and invisible hockey stick and wacked it against Mr. Papadopolus), elbowing (He lurched over and mimed crunching his arm into Mr. Papadopolus' side)…

and was that a kick with a skate blade slash? _Even Hockey's Bad Boy wouldn't sink that low – Would he?_

Now Mr. Papadopolus was doing a flawless pantomime of charging (his beefy shoulder leaning into Derek's chest) -- plus he grabbed at Derek's jacket to show the same move while coming up _behind _a player –

_Extremely dirty!_ Maybe Mr. Papadopolus wasn't the greatest influence on Derek at this stage in my stepbrother's life…

I cracked open the door, "DEREK – Get your butt in the car! I'm freezing in here and we need to get home. NOW!"

He and Mr. Papadopolus were exchanging numbers in their cell phones, so he waved me off.

"Der-rek!"

He was silent and brooding on the way home, one hand clasped over mine as he drove. When we pulled into the driveway, he leaned over and touched his lips against my own.

"Sorry about the store, Case."

I pulled back and raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you just apologize for something – not even something you actually did?"

He smirked but it didn't reach his eyes – they were still gloomy, "Sally loved all that shit, you know." He scrunched his forehead a little, "So did the other girls…I've been with…in Vancouver…" (At least he had the decency to seem somewhat ashamed that there had been other girls).

I didn't know what to say…the "other girls" part seemed louder to me than the other stuff he was saying. He couldn't be faithful to a girlfriend he actually lived in the same city with and I expected …_what?_

I leaned my head back against the seat and looked at him. "What are we going to do, Derek? About _us_?"

His hair was falling messily in front of his eyes, and I was close enough to see the light spray of freckles on his nose, the perfect shape of his lips and each of those long curled lashes over his sleepy eyes.

I guess it was a typical Casey move to _not only_ fall for my stepbrother but also my famous, _irresistibly _handsome stepbrother.

There is a wide gap between being "up for" a challenge and pursuing an absolutely ridiculous, doomed-to-_fail_ dream.

Yet, I had managed to leap that gap and was now standing face to face with the poster boy of all _"she should have known better"_ relationships.

"You're tough, Casey. No matter what I ever pulled, I always knew that you could handle it. "

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Derek tucked some of my hair behind one ear, "That you need to _remember_ how tough you are. You need to remember that _whatever _happenned: your dad leaving, your mom moving you here, boyfriends dumping you, me being a jerk, the crazy crap our family always got into…_whatever_… you have always handled it. Right?"

I nodded, but I was completely confused. _ Because it sounded like a break-up._

You would think so too, right?

If a guy gave _you_ a speech like that – a guy that you had _no hope_ _whatsoever_ of hanging on to for more than the couple days that you would be in his line of sight – _you'd_ think he was just preparing you for the worst too…with a speech like _that._

But the way he was _looking at me,_ and that gesture of tucking my hair behind my ear. ..

Derek _loved_ me. I _knew_ it.

He wouldn't breakup with me! He couldn't ever get over _me_ – never – I was certain. And he was certain _too!_ He HAD to be.

But I was feeling uneasy as I entered the kitchen, (where I found that my mother and sister and Aunt Fiona and Vicky and Nana Susan – all of them put together – had _still not_ managed to follow my carefully color-coded Casey Holiday Meal Preparedness Plan! What a mess! I was forced to restructure the entire first three hours of the plan to get us back on track!)

Then, I couldn't really leave the kitchen for the rest of the day without risking things falling apart in there:

First of all, my mom and Aunt Fiona kept trying to sit down with magazines. Then, Nana Susan claimed her bunions, _on her feet_, were bothering her and she couldn't possibly mash the potatoes, _with her hands_, the way I had told her too.

Also, Lizzie was occupied slipping samples to Edwin (who was hiding in the laundry room in case Aunt Sandra made a reappearance before dinner).

And at some point Vicky had decided she needed take "drink orders" from everyone and _completely vanished_.

My only real helper was Marti – and I didn't find out until it was time to sit down at the table that she had garnished everything with cocktail cherries, Coolwhip and Playdough flowers.

"Oh well," I sighed. At least it was a family dinner!

I watched as George started carving the turkey and Uncle Robert passed my home-baked rolls to the twins. My Aunt Sandra was making a big show out of spooning a taste of _my_ specialty, caramelized sweet potatoes, into Edwin's mouth.

"Now do me!" Marti chirped.

It was _somewhat _the scene I had imagined when my mother first told me about this reunion. We weren't perfect, but we were still a family enjoying a family dinner.

However, Vicky was standing by the front window looking a little lost.

I hoped this didn't mean that her…illness…was coming back.

"Vicky, " I offered, "Why don't you go upstairs and get Derek. Tell him that dinner is ready."

Vicky turned back towards the room and there were tears streaming down her face. In her hands she held a towel that looked suspiciously similar to the one Derek had used to shower that morning.

"He's gone," she sobbed.

"What?!!" It wasn't even me that screamed in shock. It was someone at the table behind me.

I was numb and completely _unable_ to speak – my mind replaying the scene in the car, Derek's breakup that hadn't felt like a breakup at all.

_He left? _

"He got in a taxi and told the driver to bring him to the airport. He was on the phone with his coach in Vancouver. He won't even stay for Christmas…" Vicky was close to hyperventilating…"and I got his name for the gift exchange!"

Aunt Fiona was consoling Vicky – who still clung to the dirty towel.

Marti had burst into tears.

Aunt Sandra had burst into laughter.

But I was still numb.

_He COULDN'T have left. He loves me. I know it. _

**To be continued…**

(and sooner than it has been – I swear!)


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

.

_He left!_ I still couldn't quite get my mind around it.

_Well, Casey, what did you expect to happen?_ I chided myself.

It was the first time I had ever jumped into something without taking into account of all the possible repercussions of my actions. Actually make that the second time (because the first was _that fateful night_ before we left home), (although, technically that night could still be considered a _part_ of the misery of my _current_ predicament) (and, now that I think of it, my _entire_ relationship with Derek was driven by gut reactions _entirely unlike_ the way I conduct myself in all other areas of my life). So make that the fifty-billionth time I had jumped into something without thinking it through (_thanks to Derek_!) but the _first_ it ever hurt _quite this bad_ly…

There had been that one moment…just before Vicky had announced that Derek was gone …when everything seemed _nearly right_ in my world.

Standing back from the table, viewing them at a distance (and …okay…one eye closed) my family had seemed _almost_ normal.

Well, let me tell you…I DID NOT stay under that delusion for long. Even with both eyes closed the _nearly right_ moment dissolved from "family gathered together for Christmas Eve turkey" into "family gathered together for Jerry Springer reveal." Vicky was sobbing and clutching at my stepbrother's used towel. Marti was sobbing and clutching at my mom.

My Aunt Sandra was cackling _like a witch_…"You didn't seriously expect a hot piece like Derek Venturi to stick around for your quaint little Christmas gift exchange, did you?" I meant to say, _like the witch that she truly is deep inside her rotten black heart_.

She'd directed the comment _at me_ of course, although no one knew that.

But, because I was standing in front of Vicky (and Vicky was the one having the meltdown as opposed to my outwardly calm behavior) it _looked_ like Aunt Sandra had directed the comment at my emotionally fragile cousin.

And that was just plain cruel (or would have been).

Fiona and Robert might have been pried apart from a fistfight the first night of our family reunion, but it was clear that despite the intensity of their fights, the sibling loyalty ran deep:

Robert abruptly stood from the table, "That's my niece, Sandra, my little sister's ONLY child…" He was outraged –_finally!_ – by my his wife's behavior: picking on poor sobbing Vicky.

Aunt Sandra opened her mouth to correct everyone.

She was just about to out my relationship with Derek , when (_Thank you God!)_ Robert tacked on …"You've been _a bitch_ to _me_ and _my_ family this week and now you're picking on my _little sister's_ barely out of the nut-house ONLY child!"

(And I am sure that he meant that "barely out of the nut-house" thing to sound way less inappropriate than it came out.) Everyone else gave him the same pass on this comment because we were all shocked and delighted to find that -- _Uncle Robert has a backbone?????? _ And furthermore, _someone_ _finally called Aunt Sandra a bitch!!!!!!!!!!_

"I'm not going to sit and listen to this, Robert!" my aunt snarled at him.

She slammed her wine glass down so hard that the stem snapped; the crashing bulb of her glass exploding against her plate, sending wine and glass shards over all the food.

We all thrust away from the table at the same time and there was a great clatter of over-turned chairs, and falling silverware.

My Uncle Robert's nostrils flared in his anger like a bull's. When he reached to the pocket inside his jacket, I was half-expecting him to pull out a gun _(GASP!)_

(but it was just a thick packet of papers).

"I was going to give this to you tomorrow Sandra but I'd rather be done with it. "

Robert brandished the papers dramatically and we all watched with rapt and fascinated expressions (except for Aunt Sandra, who was still snarling like a chained dog).

"Divorce papers!"

_(DOUBLE GASP!)_

Robert shrugged at my aunt's now startled expression, "I've met someone else."

He threw the packet into my aunt's face, "Merry Christmas, Sandra."

_(TRIPLE GASP!!!!!)_

We were all staring, silent in our horror as my aunt, scooped the papers from her lap. She'd only been surprised in that first moment; she looked _furious_ now.

(Even Vicky had paused her loud grieving at being unable to give Derek his Secret Santa gift to watch the Mexican novella our turkey dinner had become) . So where was I?

Oh yea…Aunt Sandra was furious…_If typically_ _mild-mannered Uncle Robert was capable of this much drama – then think of what my aunt would upstage him with!!! (QUADRUPLE GASP!!!!)_

But we never got to the second act because Marti was present – oh not that they would have held back on _her_ account (Jessica and Dave, _their own twins_, were both watching; huddled and distraught) – SO, no, pertinent fact of Marti's presence was that my little stepsister had just witnessed something _**BEING EXCHANGED**_ _( and_ _with the obligatory "Merry Christmas" even!)._

"AT LAAAAAAAAAST!" Marti screeched in that ear-splitting way children can.

"SECRET SANTA GIFT EXCHANGE TIME!!!!"

And really, I guess it was fitting that she was the only one excited about it ….the girl made out like a bandit.

I had actually made sure to get Marti's name (I was the only one guaranteed not to cave to her gift-interrogation tactics) and while she didn't appreciate my present at all (Which I totally don't understand as I would have absolutely LOVED to have my own monogrammed dictionary/thesaurus set at her age!) Mart DID appreciate all the _other things_ she ended up with from the "exchange" :

The white, rabbit fur slippers she had coveted early in the day had _actuall_y been a present _for Lizzie_ from Nana Susan.

_Rabbit fur!!!!! For Lizzie!!!!!_

It was like giving my sister a …dead….something…. (_like_ _a rabbit?_) .

Lizzie actually had to make a dash for the bathroom (from which we could all hear her loud retching noises).

(You know, it isn't often I get to say this, but I felt she was acting a little too much like a drama queen about the…rabbits…I mean rabbit skin…no, I mean rabbit _fur_….ugh! )

Then there was Aunt Sandra's present for me: my very own _Whore Of The Old West_ nightgown!!! I noticed mine was a _plus_ size – obviously she intended anyone (Derek) who might see me in the getup to think back to _how much better she had looked in hers – Bitch!_

I gave it to Marti for dress-up.

Then Jessica refused to accept _her_ gift (a coral bracelet) because it came from her father. (Jessica left with Aunt Sandra).

Then Dave refused to accept his gift (cashmere muffler) because it came from Jessica (Dave left with Uncle Robert).

Marti was wearing both the next morning.

Neither Robert nor Sandra physically participated in the exchange (taking turns packing things at the hotel room after hotel security forcibly separated them, then shouting at each other before getting into their _separate _taxis with their _now separated_ twin siblings). Still, Robert got a silk tie from Fiona's husband Harold (Marti tied it around her waist as a sash),

and Sandra got …nothing…as _Derek_ had been her Secret Santa.

Vicky made a really cool collage out of a collection of snapshots she had taken during high school. She had a picture from every winning game Derek had played Sophomore and Junior year (plus a couple of him practicing during the summer in between the two)– the thing was huge: as long as the couch when it was fully unrolled.

I think , once he got past how creepy it was, Derek would have really liked it.

Marti put it up on her wall.

Edwin got Nana Susan a crochet needle and yarn.

"Old ladies like to knit things, right?" Edwin said good-naturedly.

Nana Susan gave him a pained smile, "Oh I …"

But Marti piped up, "I like to knit things!" We all raised our eyebrows at her. "Well…I _might _like it. I _definitely_ like that sparkly yellow yarn!"

Papa Fred got Mom a set of pink , satin, quilted book covers – "Those will make great Barbie sleeping bags!" said Marti.

Mom got Fiona (who doesn't cook) the Tupperware 2009 Starter Collection – "Perfect for mud pies!" said Marti.

George got Fred (who doesn't golf) velvet golf club covers – "Doll hats!" said Marti.

Lizzie got Harold (who doesn't care) a _Stop_ _the Delisting of Arctic Wolves_ sweatshirt – "Matches my stuffed animal!" said Marti.

Dave wasn't there to give George anything. "Well, that sucks!" said Marti.

And Marti got Vicky an 8 x 10 autographed photo of Derek (in a pink frame engraved with little hearts). – "Maybe I should just keep this?" Marti said.

The little girl gently taking the photo back from a (once again – _sigh_) hysterical Vicky.

I have never been so glad to say goodbye to the holiday and retreat to my bedroom. _Maybe, if I can get to sleep, I will wake up and this whole thing will just be one long and terrible nightmare. Wouldn't that be nice?_

I kicked my shoes off and pulled my shirt over my head. _Maybe Derek didn't just leave me behind – like I was one of the many girls he'd screwed over his many years of screwing._

I undid my jeans and let them drop. I flipped off the lights. _Maybe he never stayed here with Sally in the first place, never punched a hole in the wall or acted like a jealous bastard when he found me at Sam's house in my pajamas._

I pulled my hair out of its clip. _Maybe I never came home in the first place…maybe I never volunteered to help with this ridiculous family reunion and just stayed in Toronto to take an inter-session class …or two…or three…_

I plopped down on my bed and yanked the covers over myself. _Maybe…_

But no!

I couldn't even find the comfort of peaceful oblivion in my own bed – because SOMEONE had left SOMETHING there! _And it better not be anything gross! Wouldn't it be just like Derek to not only leave me – but to leave me with a prank! That bastard! _

I WAS IRATE!

I jumped out of my bed wanting to scream in outrage! I would fly to Vancouver and KILL HIM – with MY BARE HANDS!

I switched the overhead lights back on to see just what my soon-to-be-deceased stepbrother had left in my bed…

IT WAS…

…a box?

Just a plain cream box – with a navy ribbon and "_from Derek"_ scrawled across one side in pencil.

Oh.

He got me a gift.

_Well – if he thinks this is going to make up for ditching me, he is dead wrong! And, anyway, this was probably something he had originally picked out for Sally. Derek is the king of all re-gifting because he hates shopping and is incapable of taking the time or consideration to actually pick out a gift…_

I undid the ribbon and lifted the lid.

I fully expected to see some kind of horrible lingerie item that would _not onl_y make my Aunt Sandra's _Whore Of The Old West_ ensemble seem fit for Nana Susan _but also_ be in his ex-girlfriend's size.

And I wasn't at first disappointed because _whatever it was_ in there was purple and silky.

I pulled it out with a disdainful flourish.

A scarf.

A dark purple silk scarf – with gold writing on it.

I peered closer at the scarf -- held it between my fingers. It was so soft that I could barely feel it in my hands. The gold writing was a slanted old fashioned script – _Shakespeare's sonnets?_ – each different – no sonnet repeated.

It was so perfectly …_me._

_That bastard! _

**TO BE CONTINUED – (LIKE…TOMORROW!) **


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Christmas Day this year meant endless rounds of driving McDonald family to the airport and long goodbyes. I was supposed to make everyone a fancy French toast breakfast, but I begged off because I felt sick (and confused, and heartbroken, and angry, and embarrassed, and like I wanted nothing more than to _fly to Vancouver_ to find out what _the hell_ Derek had meant with that gift, with his absence, with all the things that he had said and done with me before either.

But I _wasn't _going to fly to Vancouver and track him down. (Especially not when I had the example of my half-crazed cousin pining away for him – begging Marti for her framed autographed picture back.)

"No, I'm serious Marti. I can handle it…"

"Well…I don't know…Nora said not to even let you see…"

"I _SAID_, I CAN HANDLE IT. NOW **GIVE ME** THE PICTURE!"

It looked like Vicky was on her way back to mental hospital for another "little rest" (as Aunt Fiona put it). _See, Derek, this is what you do to women…you make them totally, completely, never-endingly crazy!_

I mean, that _was_ it. Right? _Right?_

He had driven my cousin into a mental institution; he had stripped Sally down to her selfish, scheming core; he turned my best-friend into a shameless slut and her gentle geeky boyfriend into a …potential _party-brawler_…(and yes, I know that technically Sheldon wasn't a wronged woman but I was on a roll! I felt certain I could eventually link Derek to world hunger and the melting of the polar ice-caps.)

Well! I wasn't going to join the list of people that Derek Venturi destroyed!

I let myself have that _one day_ of pathetic grieving: clutching the silk Shakespeare scarf to my chest, sniffling into my pillow…reliving the tender moments between us in all those semi-public places we'd had sex over the past week. How romantic? They all seemed a little sordid (maybe even uncharacteristically whorish on my part – my stepbrother had turned me _into a whore_!) thrown into the new stark light of _Derek's apparent complete indifference_.

It was a really long and difficult day. But it came to an end, eventually… and, like the resolved and mature person that I am, I managed to get out of bed and resume my productive and normal life.

I was showered and dressed. I had made my bed. Not a tear track or a tremble to prove that anything unusual had happened to me this Winter break. Nope. Nothing.

As a matter of fact – I launched right into dusting and polishing and generally restoring the house to a lovely pre-Family Reunion order. Okay so maybe an even better than pre-Family Reunion Christmas order. Which makes me helpful and useful and a valuable member of my household (what used to be my household). But the point being…

If Derek was to talk to _anyone_ here, he would see that his little stunt of leaving me – using me, and causing me to fall in love with him, and making me a bunch of empty promises for example (but not limited to) :"I'll take care of it. Don't worry" and "I could _take care_ of you – be different with you," plus getting me a Christmas gift even though I was not his designated Secret Santa partner, a gift that was obviously chosen with my interests and preferences in mind – What was that supposed to be anyway? Some kind of payment for all the good times I had shown him over the break? Maybe flying to Vancouver and beating him to a …no then I really _would be_ like all the other good time-showing partners on that never-ending list of …(deep breath) – Where was I?

Oh. Yeah.

The point being …that no one would be able to say that _any of this_ had _affected_ me _in the least little bit._

Ha. So there!

I was just packing up the last of the ornaments when the rest of my family got up. George was scratching his head and my mom was yawning. Marti flounced down the stairs in her pilfered Christmas finery. Edwin and Lizzie trudged along behind her.

"Casey, honey, what are you doing?" My mom was talking to me in a soft and fearful voice reminiscent of Aunt Fiona. More specifically, reminiscent of Aunt Fiona as she pried Vicky's fingers off Marti's doorknob when Marti wouldn't relinquish Derek's picture.

"I'm putting away the Christmas decorations, Mom. Duh!"

"But it's five in the morning," (Now George sounded suspiciously reminiscent of Aunt Fiona).

"Gosh, already? Time sure does fly when you're having fun!" I ripped packing tape across the ornament box to seal it. "You know Mom, it is going to be so much easier to decorate next year because I color coded and labeled all the decorations for you when I packed them up." I held up my green plastic label maker for her to see. "I even numbered the ornaments and included a brief description of each so you'll know exactly what and how many are in each box."

"Casey, there are …like _twenty_ boxes here!" Lizzie sputtered.

"Twenty-one" I corrected her. Everyone was looking at me (like I was crazy or something!) I'm not crazy; I'm efficient!

At any rate, even if they don't understand _me_, I know my family and I know their weaknesses and blind-spots: "Oh and I made coffee and cinnamon rolls …and waffles…and bacon…and a quiche…it's all in the oven keeping warm."

Everyone looked at each other before shrugging. "Sounds good to me," said Edwin and they all shuffled into the kitchen.

"So…" George was leaning back in his chair after having third helpings of all the breakfast foods I had made. My mother was watching him with a disgusted expression. "Your cholesterol, Georgie!" He pretended not to hear her.

"So, tonight is the big game against the Oilers!" George announced. "This ought to be a rough one for Derek – they have that vendetta against him from the last game."

I remembered.

Derek had gotten charged with an (_albeit pretty darn rough_) body check. And (in typical Derek fashion) had massively retaliated for it: first tripping the other player (minor penalty),

then stabbing him with his stick (spearing – _major _penalty),

then, finally, knocking the guy into the boards (which, because it came after the other stuff was a _misconduct_ penalty),

and punching him (which _should_ have been a _game-misconduct_ penalty ejecting Derek from the game and forcing him to change and go home – and actually _WAS _a _game-misconduct_ penalty, except that Derek _didn't _leave the ice – not before knocking _"the man who dared to charge him"_ to the ice and punching him _AGAIN_).

Oh and let me just mention that _charging with an (albeit pretty darn rough) body check_…is practically the _only_ way Derek gets the puck _every time_ he takes it… so …really…the massive retaliation tactic was not only _irrational_ rage but _hypocritical_ rage on Derek's part.

No wonder the Oiler's have a vendetta against him.

And …come to think of it…there is a lot of _vendetta against Derek_ going around. I could name at least _one _person listening to George fret about his son's wellbeing in that night's game against the Oilers who ALSO had a bit of a _vendetta against Derek_...

**ME**!!!!!!

Oh, I was fully intending to watch that game, with popcorn even. (_**This**_ was going to be better than stripping the kitchen floor and resealing it …better than alphabetizing the canned goods in the pantry…better than dusting the garage!!!!)

_**Bring on the vendetta!!!!! **_

However…. by the second period my glee over watching Derek get beaten into the ice had changed into something more like stomach-twisting disgust and horror.

He got knocked to the ice, speared, checked, hit, kicked enough to make any wronged woman feel happy, but he also did enough dirty stuff of his own to make me…his …stepsister…friend?...someone who cares about him even though he TOTALLY DOESN'T DESERVE EVEN ONE SECOND OF HER CONCERN…ummm….concerned.

There was no Sally at home for him (the entire nation was up to date on that, thanks to the tabloid-like entertainment "news" show right before the game) and he was the one who had _ditched me_ so it couldn't be that either, but something had made Derek a crazed animal for this game tonight.

I kept thinking back on all the things he had told me about hockey and his reputation. But I kept coming back to this, _"I pretty much assume everyone wants to do something to me and I don't really mind it anymore…" _

Hadn't he told me that before Sally's brothers had shown up to kick his ass from here to Vancouver for breaking things off with their sister? Yes he had!

So it wasn't anything about a vendetta making him act like an angry…insane…out of control…son of a bitch with a …death wish…

Death wish? ??

Hadn't I accused him of deliberately trying to hurt himself in hockey? Hadn't I brought up to him that he was taking all these crazy risks with a half-conscious plan to sustain an injury just bad enough that he would never play again? Yes _I _had.

(He hadn't denied it either. )

_Oh my God!!!!!! _

Suddenly I lunged closer to the screen while George and Edwin were yelling at me to "Quit blocking the television!"

My hands were so tight in their fists that my knuckles were white and my nails cut into the skin of my palms. _He was trying to get hurt!!!!_

My teeth gnawed at my bottom lip.

I was frozen that way for a few minutes before something George said cut through my terror. "You're worried about him, aren't you Casey?"

I couldn't even deny it – I was too afraid of what Derek was doing on the ice that night.

I just nodded.

Maybe this would be better – if George knew I was upset …then I could tell him my suspicions about what Derek was doing (and why – underneath my fear I knew _the reason_ he would be trying to hurt himself in this game – to be _with me _).

"Well, you don't need to worry like that Casey. Derek was always the best skater any coach had ever seen – once a figure skating instructor even tried to persuade him to switch over." George chuckled, "Well you can imagine Derek's reaction to that…"

"But what about all the …"

"He takes a lot of risks." George interrupted me. "But he can…because he's such a phenomenal skater. Besides which – see that big guy to his left – Krawski? He was pretty much signed just to protect Derek – all hockey teams do this to their star players. Derek is too expensive and valuable. Don't worry…your brother couldn't get hurt …even if he tried!"

_Your brother couldn't get hurt?? _"Stepbrother," I automatically corrected.

_Not even if he tried? Not even if was trying right now? Not even if he had been trying since the beginning of the season? And what was the other feeling I was having besides relief – Oh good. Derek is a phenomenal skater. He can't get hurt …even if he tries… _

_Was I actually disappointed? I am a terrible person!_

So he _wasn't_ trying to get hurt -- he'd given up this plan as his excuse to leave Vancouver and professional hockey …but he was _definitely_ trying _something._ Just like before all this mess, I was still the only one who could see the difference between Derek playing like an arrogant jerk and Derek playing like a _desperate_ arrogant jerk.

_What are you up to? _

All the moments we had shared, his promises and the gift : I just couldn't help believing that this _was _connected to _me_ and to _us._ Then there was his natural propensity for scheming and …trouble….

_Wait a second…_

I'd been staring at George during all my musing – watching his face as he watched his son live out all his dreams as a professional hockey player. George looked pretty happy, pretty smug. "Oh Derek! Cross-checking is only going to get you another…"

I could hear the ref's whistle from the television behind me. George's face flashed with a moment of exasperation…then his eyes grew round and he sucked in a breath…"What is he doing?" George choked out.

I turned around just in time to see my stepbrother sail across the ice in that lightening-fast and uncannily accurate way of his – he was going straight for the ref who had blown the whistle at him.

My hands came up to hide my eyes so I only saw the next part through my fingers.

Derek had ripped his gloves off along the way and reared back a fist. He took the ref down with one hard punch to the side of his head and the ref stayed on the ice until they carried him away.

Derek's professional hockey career was over.

.

So you know the rest…I mean… unless you'd been living under a rock or something…you _had to_ know…

How Derek refused to apologize and how the ref (claiming not to remember the incident) still stuck to his decision not to press charges.

Then there was the big legal hurdle while Vancouver mulled over charging him independent of the referee's memory.

And, of course, the Cannucks made a big show of dropping Derek (effectively repackaging themselves as a more family-friendly team to support! ).

Finally, there was a last wave of press when the NHL banned Derek Venturi for life – the first person to get such a ban since Billy Coutu in 1927. (Impressive?)

_**Incidentally,**_ Billy Coutu was _also _banned for attacking a ref. _Interesting._

Especially, _interesting _since this was a topic on which Derek _wrote a paper during his senior year_ (which was -- let me use that incidentally word again here – the _only_ year that he wrote papers – in preparation for college admittance although he went right into pro-sports without even attending college).

So this was a piece of history he was familiar with. _Interesting._

And, although he shared this distinction with Billy Coutu, I will bet that their situations _differ radically_ in _all kinds_ of ways.

Let me list them:

1. Derek _grew up with_ the ref he hit as the ref was (in fact!) Mr. Papadopolus! His first hockey coach!

2. The son of the injured ref mysteriously arrived at the family home of the attacking player immediately after the dramatic and abrupt conclusion of the second period – _meaning that_ he was _in the car_ and _on his way_ exactly 13.5 minutes before the attack occurred. Which is odd—as if the arrival were almost….timed.

3. The injured ref seemed quite _jovial and alert_ talking to the stepsister of the attacking player (and even invited her over to watch hockey on his brand new large flat screen television if and when the "doctors let her out" again) just moments after leaving the ice while waiting for the ambulance to arrive. At which point, he once again appeared unconscious and had a _sudden case of amnesia_.

4. This "amnesia" caused him to doubt the attack occurred or desire to press legal charges – even though his attack was broadcast across the nation and had hundreds of thousands of witnesses (even more if you count YouTube viewings.

5. The lawyer representing the attacking player – although no charges were ever filed – had an awful lot to do "cleaning things up," and settling contract reimbursements for the Cannucks, and he had to do them _for free_.

However, although he was never paid a cent (because Derek no longer had a cent), it still became a rather valuable father/son reckoning.

6. The attacking player had already been admitted and de-waitlisted for a spring semester and University of Toronto in film studies – allowing him to slide neatly into a more anonymous (yet fulfilling) life as a college student.

Poor Billy Coutu. I bet he never had any of these silver-lining events happening under the surface and out of the spotlight when he was banned for life.

And then there was the reunion between the attacking player and his stepsister. Well, that part wasn't on the news or anything so I guess I should tell you …

I wasn't happy with him: He could have gotten hurt – trying to get a penalty at exactly that time and place in the game. Or Ralph's dad could have been hurt – no matter how hard he claimed his head was.

( And, really, bribing someone with a flat screen television to play dead…well…play _knocked out_ is just unconscionable.)

Still, the first thing I said when I looked into his feverishly triumphant eyes was something along the lines of …

"Are you alright?" my voice trailed off a little at the end because – he looked more than just alright. He looked the way his team members (and his father – although I would never describe this for him – _not now_) had looked every time he won a game.

"Duh. Of course I'm alright." Same cockily dismissive toss of his head, same wild hair flying off his face for a second before falling right back in messy curls over one eye. "Except for the part where I had to track down where you live in the middle of the night."

I had returned to Toronto .

I had a week of Winter Break left so I knew that I had the apartment to myself for a while. Besides, the initial wake of Derek's spectacular dethroning from the world of professional sports made hanging around home _extremely _uncomfortable.

Derek was walking around the apartment – studying the pictures and touching the knick-knacks.

"I didn't mean to freak you out. Ralph said he thought you were going to pass out when he first walked in the house. He said you looked worse than my dad." He quit examining the place and turned to face me, exasperated. "Jeez, Case. I thought I explained things to you. I told you that you needed to be tough…"

"_That_ was what _that talk_ was about?!" I spat back at him. "You thought you were explaining some diabolical scheme to get thrown out of professional hockey?" I was standing and facing him, hands on hips, angry. He was slouching over me, smirking with narrowed eyes. This felt familiar – _grounding_.

At last, I felt like I _was breathing_ again, able to think and in control of my world.

"Hello? Spacey? You were _standing right there_ when Ralph's dad and I came up with the one sure-fire way to get me out of the Cannucks, my dad off my back, my popularity gone…"

"I was not _standing right there_, Derek. I was in the car! And I would have _never_ let you go through with something this…"

"Hey. It wasn't like you were coming up with anything better…" Derek rubbed at his neck and flushed. He adopted the arrogant bravado that usually meant he was embarrassed. "And, maybe you weren't _standing right there_, but what the hell would I have been talking about in the car if I wasn't talking about…"

"I thought you were breaking up with me!" I was trying for my own arrogant bravado…and failing miserably…that one day I had allowed myself of pathetic grieving, scarf clutching and sniffling was suddenly very, very close. Especially the sniffling.

_Damn! I hate the way my tears always give me away – they ruin all my moments of arrogant bravado!_

Derek 's mouth had dropped open. "You thought I was…." He couldn't even manage a non-arrogant bravado. "Casey, are you completely insane?" He gripped my arms and gave me a hard shake. "You are the _one person_ who _always_ knows what I am thinking…even when _I_ don't know what I am thinking and …" he dropped his hands from my arms waved away whatever he was going to say.

"Listen Case," and now he was nervous…looking right into my eyes like I was suddenly this enigma to him. "All my stuff is in my car outside. _All of it._ And when I say my car – I'm talking about The Prince. Do you get it, Case? You aren't getting a hockey star. You aren't getting a fancy penthouse, or a maid, or a little sport's car to be seen in with me. You aren't getting _Hockey's Bad Boy_. You just get _me_."

I was crying now. What the hell, Derek had seen me pathetic before. He'd seen me in all the ways that I come. "I don't care about all that stuff."

He sighed like he had doubted it for a minute. _Like me_, I guess…I'd doubted him – when I thought he had left and treated me like I was just another girl. I could _never _be _just another girl_ for him.

I put my palm against his slightly flushed cheek. He watched me with that hopeful little boy face he could do so well. His long lashes fluttering closed for just a moment at my touch.

My hand found its way down the smooth skin of his throat to his chest and then I reached up with the other hand and started to undo the buttons on his rumpled oxford.

Derek's confident smirk returned. His long arms circled my waist and drew me flush against him. His mouth went to my collarbone and I nestled my face into the unruly soft curls that he was always shaking out of his way.

There wasn't much else I needed to ask him or he needed to ask me.

I think we'd both thought we had million questions for the other until we finally connected in this very fundamental way – then we realized we hadn't needed to ask each other anything after all.

His skin was sliding against mine and his mouth was hot and constantly moving; pressed against my neck and then nuzzling against my breast as he found the clasp to my bra and could finally pull my nipple between his lips -- _finally, finally, finally_.

Then he traced wet kisses down my stomach until his hot, searching mouth was between my legs and I couldn't even think.

We both tried to make the sex last as long as we could stand it. I would feel him start to shake and then we would both hold still -- joined but paused and panting into each others' mouths – letting what had been building to ease back for a few minutes, just so we could make it build again…. and again. …and again…

It didn't feel like some trick he had learned all those nights I listened in on him ,when he lived in the room next door to mine. It felt real – like something he only wanted with me. The last couple of these pauses we were both chuckling a little in our gasps – we couldn't hold off forever. This one round of lovemaking had to end eventually. ..

When he finally let go we were both exhausted. We'd never made it to the bed because neither of us had the energy to get there.

So we were still on the living room rug – and I really want to apologize for that …again.

I've never been able to sleep without clothes on … thank god for that I guess! But walking in on my naked step-brother-boyfriend…

I mean, I know you said that you didn't mind at all…

No, no…I really want to apologize – you've just been so nice about it.

And all that inconsiderate _boyish behavior_ you have put up with!

With the way he sometimes lounges around _shirtless_… and he put that chin-up bar in our doorway so you are practically forced to _watch him workout_ …

Well you are sweet to say it isn't any kind of problem at all for you. You are just a saint, really!

And Derek and I both are grateful that it was okay with you about his moving in here for second semester. I just wanted to set the record straight for you …since you _have_ been living with a dethroned hockey star (_dethroned from Hockey's Bad Boy – who knew there was anything lower?? _) and then the step-sibling part of things (_some people really have a problem with that part – which is just silly_).

And covering for us with our family at first…

But I just have this one more tiny little favor to ask… Ummm…if you were done watching Derek doing chin-ups that is…

See, it's been only one semester that we've _been a couple_ but…it's been _so much longer that we've been_ _…well…the most important part of each other's lives I guess you could say._

And now he and I are getting a place together and (call me old fashioned) …or as our siblings put it "suddenly uncool and boring"…or like our friends said "insane but probably doing to right thing"…

Or, like George and my mom, you could call us "too young and impulsive" – _and how well do you know me? Have I ever, ever done anything impulsive?_ (_Aside from everything I have ever done with Derek that is…_)

…but I wanted to be _married _and living together…

It would be a summer wedding – kind of short notice…not a big deal really…not fancy…

But you've rooted for us _from the beginning_ – we could both tell.

And, as someone who has always believed in us…

(What was it you said – Obvious and undeniable chemistry? Clear devotion and near obsessive preoccupation with each other? Perfectly opposite yet complimentary personalities? -- _Actually I think you said all of these and even more I can't recall right at this moment._)

"Case! Just ask her already! It isn't that big of a deal…she's practically bouncing up and down waiting to say yes…"

Would you want to be in it? Not exactly a bridesmaid -- more like a _witness_ – someone who's _watched us together_ and _listened_ and _always accepted. _Well, we talked it over and we both decided that you should be a part of it – our coming together legally, formally, openly – you know…something…_canon._

If you would _like to_…if you _would_…

.

LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD – LWD -- LWD

_**Le fin!**_


End file.
